K is for Kamabo
by dbluewillow
Summary: In the wake of Octavio's second capture, Callie stays behind to seize a leadership position in the Canyon. Back in Inkopolis, Captain Cuttlefish and Agent 3 discover something fishy beneath Mount Nantai. And Eight, a disgraced Octarian soldier, finds herself caught in a power struggle far above her pay grade. Whether she likes it or not, her worldview is about to get an expansion.
1. Chapter 1

**PREFACE**

 _K is for Kamabo_ is a reimagining of the Octo Expansion DLC that diverges from the source material heavily. From using the original, unpatched ending of Octo Canyon where Callie disappears, to avoiding convenient plot devices like amnesia, I've taken many liberties with how I present the story and world. Inspired by spy novels, this story features a serious and character-driven version of Octo Expansion's plot. Ultimately, I hope to spin a gripping, high-stakes tale that parallels a story I already love but gives me ample room to explore new ideas.

Thank you for choosing to read _K is for Kamabo_. This is a story that I've been sinking a lot of time and energy into, a story that I have been itching to tell. I have put great care into ironing out all the details so that you may have a more engaging experience. Please enjoy.

As always, I welcome all feedback. Please say hello and tell me what you think!

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 **Thursday, 11:30 p.m.  
** **Kamabo Co., Sector D10**

The lone Octoling peered around a bend in the alleyway. With her back pressed to the wall, she listened for any sounds that might be coming toward her position, her red eyes scanning what little she could make out of the upcoming zone. Under the cover of night, she couldn't see much, but fortunately, neither could her foes.

She slipped around the corner, still up against the wall, and got a clearer view of her surroundings. The concrete buildings all around her shot high into the sky. Black towers blended into a black, starless expanse. Fifty feet in front of her was a metal railing, which marked the far end of the alley. Beyond that was a six or seven-foot drop to ground level, a boxed-in, square-shaped space that spanned roughly forty feet. At least three targets were patrolling the lower area—she could see the yellow glow of their flashlights up ahead. A cloud of light fog had also formed in the open space, clinging to the asphalt and obscuring her view of the square.

The blue-haired Octoling's job was simple: get in and get out safely. She took two more steps forward and dropped to the ground, crawling the rest of the way on her stomach. When she reached the metal railing, she stopped to listen again. She confirmed three targets: two right below the railing coming toward her position, and a third on the other side of the square.

When the first two targets came directly under her, the Octoling sprang up and vaulted over the railing. She landed on top of the first target with both feet, knocking it over. Then she lunged forward and jammed her elbow into the other, taking it out as well. A thin, red beam of light cut through the fog, locking onto the Octoling's chest. She dove behind a large wooden crate just as the third target took its shot, and an explosion pierced the silence of the night. From behind the crate, the Octoling popped out and bounded on all fours over to the other side of the square, a blur of green and blue. The third target had no time to load another round, and she gave it one swift strike.

The inflatable training dummy went down with a satisfying pop. Its mounted scope rifle fell to the ground, and the lights in the test chamber came back on. The Octoling recoiled and jerked her head down, her pale green arms instinctively shooting up to her face in an attempt to shield her eyes.

"TEST PASSED!" the loudspeakers boomed. From behind a screen, Commander Tartar watched the test subject make her way out of the simulation room. He was quite pleased with the results.

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 **Friday, 8:52 a.m.  
** **Inkopolis**

A short girl stepped into Captain Cuttlefish's office, quietly closing the door behind her. She approached his desk and noted the lack of personal effects—other than a small portrait frame holding a faded photo of two little girls, the captain's desk was free of clutter. Its smooth, mahogany surface held only a laptop computer and a stack of file folders. Two grey, cushioned chairs sat across the captain in front of the desk, and the girl pulled one back for herself with her right hand.

"What do you need me for, Cap'n?" the girl asked as she sat down.

The old man sized up the physically unimpressive figure before him, and she stared right back. Natalie Tilus, seventeen years old and five foot two, had already built up a spectacular resume that belied her modest appearance. A child prodigy and varsity cross country runner who had finished high school four years ahead of schedule, Natalie graduated at the top of her class and now played in the Turf War League, a scene that required top-notch intuition, endurance, and intellect. She was the city's youngest professional paintball player, coming into her own with a solid string of wins this season. Analysts were spewing out optimistic predictions for Nat and her team's chances at the finals—perhaps too optimistic, in the captain's own opinion.

And all of that was just the official, on the books stuff. Off the record, Nat Tilus was the now-defunct New Squidbeak Splatoon's top operative, codenamed Agent 3. With the captain's personal guidance, she had carried out twenty-seven successful ops across Octo Valley. She was the one-woman vanguard fighting against an enemy who didn't play by the rules. Agent 3 was the NSS's wildcard, their one-size-fits-all solution to problems ranging from reconnaissance to extraction, a flexible asset who could take jobs that nobody else wanted to do and get them done fast. She was also personally responsible for rescuing the Great Zapfish, apprehending the responsible parties, and saving Cuttlefish's own life during a whirlwind tour of modern Octarian extremism three years ago, during a time when all hope seemed lost.

Nat had a perfect record, except for one failed assignment in the Canyon last year. The captain didn't hold that one against her. The NSS had been set up. It was a classic case of foul play, and he was of the belief that cheating didn't count. Even if he wasn't, Nat was still the only person Senior Officer Craig A. Cuttlefish could turn to at the moment. Pursing his dry, cracked lips, he turned his laptop around to show her a topographic map of Octo Valley.

"Know where Mount Nantai is, kid?"

Nat turned her head and attention to the screen. "What done you find there?" she asked with a slight drawl.

The captain smiled. Nat was as lazy and improperly dressed as the rest of her generation, but at least she could keep up with him. They both preferred straightforward, to-the-point communication, without any bullshit. This kid was on his wavelength, and even her accent was the same as his own. It was hard not to like her.

"Patrols have spotted people going through the area," Cuttlefish answered. "Givin' me the willies."

"Lemme guess, your guys aren't clear to investigate until after the weekend, so you need me to do a quick look see."

The old man nodded. One year ago, he had been made an adviser to the city's Department of Protection and Counterterrorism. It had been a symbolic gesture, one intended to both respect his past achievements and put a stop to his unauthorized, NSS-sanctioned activities. Here, his naval rank of Captain no longer held any weight. He had no official capacity to tell anyone in the DPC what to do, even though he knew the enemy far better than the other idiots on their payroll. To make matters worse, the NSS had disbanded after their newest recruit blew his cover during a rescue and nearly killed several dozen civilians, leaving the captain somewhat disarmed. Without direct access to his contacts, equipment, or agents, Captain Cuttlefish had to get things done under the table in order to bypass all the red tape. If the DPC considered homeland security an "urgent matter" and its "first priority," it sure as hell didn't act like it. Requests for anything often took days to get an OK, which was unacceptably slow.

"When do you want me back by?" Nat asked.

"Monday morning at the latest. Don't do anything crazy out there unless you know you can handle it."

Nat gave her former boss a silent nod, then got up and left his office. She understood that the captain wouldn't have called her in unless his problem was serious. Serious usually meant Octarians, and Agent 3 could handle Octarians like nobody else. She grinned. It had been too long since she'd seen any real action.

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 **Friday, 8:57 a.m.  
** **Cephalon HQ**

Cameron "Eight" Elias adjusted the collar on her uniform before knocking twice on her commanding officer's door. Perhaps the term _commanding officer_ was too formal to describe Callie, but the woman had been Eight's acting boss for nearly a year, now. Callie had succeeded Octavio as the new military director after the latter's capture during a compromised operation. The citizens of the Canyon welcomed Callie Cuttlefish's progressive approach to leadership which emphasized organized education, self-improvement, and better living conditions, despite the fact that she was an Inkling. Eight herself certainly preferred this outsider's more moderate stance over the outdated, anti-Inkling war rhetoric that always seemed to strike a chord with older Octarians. Sure, Callie's meteoric rise was unusual, but Eight knew better than most just how capable she was.

From the other side of the door, Callie beckoned her subordinate to enter, and the red-haired Octoling smoothed out the creases on her pants. She puffed her chest out a bit before turning the knob and walking into Octavio's old office, where Callie stood next to a large, rectangular desk. A casual visitor might have been surprised by the current director's apparent lack of organization skills—pens, papers, and the occasional box of candies littered the centuries-old office space. Not even the floor was spared. Books, boxes, and trash sat on the carpeted surface that Octavio had once had vacuumed twice a day.

Callie smiled and gave what Eight always thought was the customary Inkling greeting. "How's it going, Eight?"

"Good, ma'am," Eight responded with a salute. By this point in her life, Eight had all of her greetings down. They were practiced motions, proper methods used to acknowledge superiors. Callie's conversational tone always put a funny taste in her mouth, however, with its intimate, foreign probing into the other person's condition. Octarians, especially high-ranking individuals, never asked each other _how things were going_. That violated everything in their unwritten code of honor.

Regardless of whether the Inkling in front of her actually cared about her wellbeing, Eight understood that Callie's unusual greeting was intended to both disarm potential foes and put familiars at ease. Callie's old life in Inkopolis involved a lot of public appearances, from what Eight had gathered. Before coming to the Canyon, Callie had been both an NSS agent and a big celebrity, someone capable of killing two people with one hand and answering questions into a microphone with the other hand. Everything that came out of the director's mouth was deliberate and intentional. Even her graceful, dancer-like body movements seemed to be calculated. Callie had made good use of her strengths to make friends, hold off enemies, and win the hearts of the people.

"I am concerned," Callie answered, eyes drifting to the ground and landing on a pile of garbage—no, a pile of paper reports. "Two missing persons reports in a week."

"What happened, ma'am?" asked Eight, lowering her salute.

Callie reached into the pile on the ground and pulled out two pieces of paper. She placed them on her desk, sweeping several other items off to clear space, then said, "The Vice President of Kamabo Corporation went missing on Monday, as you know. And now, an inspection officer has disappeared during his monthly run of the Valley. Kamabo Co. was last on his list of places to check. Isn't that fishy?"

"Yes, it is, ma'am."

"I need someone to investigate. Go to Mount Nantai and get me the lowdown on whatever's happening there."

"Today, ma'am?"

"We have a contact at Kamabo who works assembly, and he'll get you in."

Eight grimaced. She was no stranger to undercover work, but it wasn't the most pleasant way to spend a weekend. Especially when it came with zero due notice. She had wanted to spend more time at home, with her sister Cece.

"I'm sorry if I threw a wrench in your weekend plans, Eight," Callie continued. "I'm afraid this is not something we can ignore."

Eight wouldn't have refused either way, because she and her sister owed Callie their lives. Recently orphaned and attacked by accusations of treason, the sisters had an uphill battle cut out for them. Then Callie had swooped in and taken them under her wing. And what should have been a ruined military career for Eight then turned into a lucrative business opportunity of sorts: Callie watched the former lieutenant's back, and Eight did the director's dirty work. The assignments were challenging and the pay was really good. It was better than working for the Inkopolis-hating geezers who ran the rest of Octo Canyon, if not by much.

"I understand, ma'am," Eight spoke. Her voice betrayed no emotion, though her face showed clear discontent with the idea of infiltrating one of the government's own facilities.

"Sit down, Eight. We've got a lot of ground to cover."

Thirty minutes later, after running Eight through the details, Callie thanked her right-hand woman and sent her away. Eight departed with another salute. Back in the halls of Cephalon HQ, Eight pulled out her phone and gave her sister a call.

Cece Elias picked up after a single ring. "Hey, Cammy," her voice sang. Being Eight's twin, Cece had known Eight for her entire life and was the only person who didn't address Eight by her academy nickname.

"Hey, Cece. Something came up at work. I'll be out of town for a while," Eight spoke. "Thought I'd let you know."

There was a brief pause, then Cece asked, "When are you coming home?"

"On Monday," answered Eight.

"I know I shouldn't ask, but Ms. Director is sending you out again, isn't she?"

"Yeah. I'll call you when I get back."

"Stay safe out there, Cammy."

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	2. Chapter 2

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 **Friday, 9:01 a.m.  
** **Inkopolis**

A short girl stepped out of Craig Cuttlefish's office, not bothering to close the door behind her, and she walked away without acknowledging the two women sitting outside. Maybe she just had no idea who they were.

"Finally!" Pearl Enperry shouted, practically jumping out of her chair. "That old geezer sure knows how to keep us waiting!"

Sitting in the chair next to Pearl, Marina Ida winced. The door to the captain's office was wide-open. "Inside voices, Pearl!" she chided. "And didn't anyone teach you to respect your elders?"

Pearl put her hands on her hips and winked at her still-seated friend. Normally, Pearl appreciated having Marina hold her back and be her voice of reason, but not today. Mr. Craig Cuttlefish was at fault, here. He had disrespected them by asking them to make a trip all the way to his office on the south end of the DPC headquarters, only to make them wait for that other girl to show up and talk to him first. That was a blatant waste of everyone's time. Uncool. But the head adviser would have to be able to take some heat if he wanted to dish it out. It wasn't like he owned the place.

"Come in," Craig spoke from within. His voice had a slight accent, as if he was some sort of old-fashioned hick. Pearl heard that the former captain was in his late 120s now, a relic of the past. Ancient history had no place in the very modern Department of Protection and Counterterrorism, she believed.

The women took the chairs across from the DPC's head adviser on intelligence, and he stared at them through squinted eyes. Maybe he was sizing them up or something; Marina wasn't quite sure what he was doing. Her imagination had made the legendary Captain Cuttlefish out to be some kind of big, muscular Inkling with toned biceps and shaved sideburns, but the real deal was this tiny, bearded guy with the shakes. The stories she had heard since childhood were no longer accurate, now that time had taken its heavy toll on the captain. Marina had never seen anyone so old in her life, barring the similarly long-lived Octavio.

"So from what I gather, you lot are the DPC's recon team," the captain noted. "Gatherin' info and all that."

Marina grinned and nodded. Outside of hosting Off the Hook and making music in her spare time, the Octoling was a tech junkie. The DPC had originally hired her for part-time equipment maintenance, but that job proved far beneath her skill set. Marina's real selling point was her affinity with computers, and she was an expert in all things surveillance, to boot. Within weeks, they had her spearheading reconnaissance operations. The DPC contract additionally gave her ample resources to test her homebrew gear, refine her blueprints, and do practical data collection, all on the city's dime. She was building crazy contraptions, and the city was receiving unprecedented amounts of surveillance data. It was a win-win compromise with Inkopolis, she told herself.

"Yes, Mr. Cuttlefish, sir! That we are!" crowed Marina. This was also Marina's chance to impress the world's leader in foreign intelligence—Mr. Cuttlefish wasn't exactly her childhood hero, per se, but his exploits in gathering, processing, and analyzing security information were well known to all Octarians in the military. He was both a role model and a feared enemy. The Octarians, despite all their advanced technology, could never match the old man's wits or suss out his planted contacts. He had always been one step ahead of them in a war that had since gone cold.

The senior officer frowned at her. "That's _Yes, Cap'n_ , to you, Miss Ida," he said.

"Yes, Cap'n, my apologies," Marina replied on instinct. Her habits from the Octarian military had kicked in first, even though the captain had no real right to tell Marina what to call him. Old habits died hard.

Fortunately, Pearl was there to stand up for her. "Uh, excuse me? Who the heck are you?!" Pearl snapped. "We take time out of our day to come to your office, and you stall us out. Now you're demanding _respect_? Earn it first, dude!"

Anger flashed across Craig's face, but he quelled it within a second. The loud pink brat was everything wrong with kids these days, but this wasn't a fight worth fighting. The captain got back to business and asked, "So, hypothetically, if yer boss knew about some Octojerks stationed near Mount Nantai next week, would he put you on the team to deal with 'em?"

Pearl exchanged a knowing look with her friend, and Marina shrugged. The two of them had actually first met atop Mount Nantai, when Pearl discovered the runaway Octoling engineer during a hiking trip. There really was an abandoned Octarian facility beneath the mountain, according to Marina—a whole network of warehouses and tunnels that she had used to reach the surface. If the Octarians had taken up residence there again, though, that could be bad news.

"Would the DPC putcha' up there with the boys?" the captain asked again.

Pearl's attention went back to the DPC's head adviser. "What?" she sneered. "You don't think a bunch of _girls_ can handle themselves in a fight?"

The old man shook his head. Then, he said, "I'm just making sure of it. If the DPC is sending folks up, they better be people who… well... _know_ the place. People who _understand_ the newfangled machinery over there."

Marina stiffened and crossed her arms. "What are you saying?" she asked.

Cuttlefish met her gaze dead on. "Just that I trust the experts, Miss Ida. And you ladies seem to be experts."

Pearl glared at their adviser. She could tell that Marina was getting uncomfortable—her body language was giving off that guarded vibe that often accompanied talk about her past.

"What do you want from us?!" Pearl demanded, standing up to her admittedly small full height and slamming her right palm on the desk. She wasn't about to let this old fart suggest anything insidious about her Octoling partner. "We're doing our job, and _you're_ supposed to help us do it better. Tell us what we need to know."

The little old man didn't even flinch. "Miss Enperry, we're on the same side, here," he asserted. Despite his small size, Pearl found talking to him rather uncanny. He seemed so composed, so still and unmoving. Craig barely even stopped to breathe between sentences.

"Convince me."

"I want you two to prepare for anything. Given how glacially slow things move around these parts, I'm afraid the DPC is gonna send ya up when they should be sending the cavalry. I have a hunch that the Octarian military is up to no good."

"You've detected activity on Mount Nantai," Marina deduced.

"On it, around it, and in it," Cuttlefish said with a vigorous nod.

"And you think the two of us won't be enough to do anything in time," Marina continued. "Is that correct?"

The former naval officer nodded again.

"Come on," Pearl whined. "You called us in on a hunch? You wasted our time because you got the willies?"

"Not just the willies," he remarked, pushing a manilla folder towards them.

Marina opened the folder and began sifting through the contents. Inside was a slew of aerial photographs and black-and-white Echolocator scans of Mount Nantai. Marina took one for herself, noting the large number of apparent hostiles on the mountain, and passed the rest of the folder to Pearl. She had to admit, even if Old Craig Cuttlefish didn't have any evidence to back up his claims, she still would have readily trusted his hunch. He was an asshole, but Craig wouldn't have made it all the way to one hundred twenty-eight years old if his willies weren't spot-on.

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 **Friday, 10:15 a.m.  
** **Cephalon HQ**

Eight perused the equipment room, examining her options. If she was going to be masquerading as a factory worker, then she wouldn't need any heavy gear, but she wasn't going to dive headfirst into Kamabo Corporation without a gun. Eight had no plans to be a part of the mountaintop facility's next disappearing act.

She ended up selecting a compact plastic pistol that could fit under her belt and pass through metal detectors. She would have felt safer with an Octo Shot strapped to her back—any academy-trained soldier would have preferred the standard-issue assault rifle—but tonight's assignment did not permit a guns blazing approach. Undercover work called for discretion, so Eight would have to make do with the tiny handgun.

On her way out, she passed by a lone soldier. Eight avoided making eye contact with him, but as luck would have it, the other Octoling ended up sighting her anyway.

"What are _you_ doing here, Eight?" the soldier sneered. "Did someone forget to take out the trash?"

Eight whirled around to face him—Shawn, Shane, Shaymus, or whatever his name was—and put a stern expression on her face. "It's _Lieutenant Elias_ , Shawn," she snarled at him. "I _work_ here."

"My name is Shad, not Shawn."

"I don't care what your name is, you smart-mouthing, insubordinate grunt," Eight spat. Actually, she remembered that they were both commissioned officers who had graduated from the academy. She outranked him, though.

"Just because you work for Director Cuttlefish doesn't mean you're still an officer," he jabbed. Eight narrowed her eyes. Well, at least she used to outrank him.

Eight continued glaring at the other Octoling, trying to think of something to shut him up with. "Article 88. A commissioned officer who uses contemptuous words against officials, whether elected or _appointed_ , may face dismissal from the military and forfeiture of all pay," Eight recited by memory. "You should stop talking now, Ensign."

But Shad wasn't done. "Is that how you justify working for the person who killed your parents?" he countered.

Eight shook her head. She wouldn't let this overgrown manchild get to her. She couldn't get angry, because it would reflect poorly on her already-spotty reputation. That was probably what Shad wanted, after all. The truth was, Eight didn't know who had killed her parents. Many in the military suspected Callie, but Eight had never asked her directly. It was easier for Eight to answer questions rather than ask them herself, and asking this one could possibly endanger her only remaining family member. Eight valued Cece's safety over solving the mystery of their parents' deaths, even if the latter weighed heavily on her mind.

"We all know you're just a money-grubbing slut, Lieutenant Elias," Shad continued. "You have no sense of honor and the loyalty of a shark. Go ahead and try to court-martial me. Let's see how seriously anyone takes you."

Eight took a deep breath and continued on her way, letting Shad have the last laugh. She had bigger fish to fry.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

 **Friday, 10:20 a.m.  
** **Director's office**

Callie sighed in frustration and massaged her temples. She was stressed, but backing down now would be cowardice. It would be irresponsible. A decade ago, becoming the Octarian military director was the last thing Callie could have seen herself doing. And yet, here she was, the only Inkling for miles around, in charge of a bunch of Octarians who wanted her dead. Well, that wasn't a fair assessment. Only a fraction of the military, which itself was only a part of the general populace, wanted any Inklings dead. Most Octarians didn't care all that much. But the hardliners were a vocal minority, a bunch of old men who admittedly had the experience and connections to back themselves up.

The less angry citizens of Octo Canyon, Callie observed, were diligent but disadvantaged, intelligent but unable to really thrive without the necessary education or pathways to success. Even after the end of the power famine and the start of Inkopolis aid effort, everybody in the Canyon was still poor as dirt. It was Callie's mission, now, to see to their rise. The Octarian people deserved a chance to prove themselves to the world, a chance to pick themselves up after a century of destitution, a chance to share their unique, technologically-inclined minds with the world.

If they could do it without trying to kill anyone, then maybe they would actually succeed. That was a big if, one Callie knew that she could help with.

She was an outsider, though, and her peers never let her forget it. While the Octarians were mostly meritocratic and welcoming of Callie's novel skill set, the hardliners in the government still made every step of her journey as painful as possible. While most of the military seemed to appreciate their new director's focus on domestic problems—a 180-degree reversal from Octavio's warmongering—the old guard still distrusted her. Callie supposed that they had every right to. Nobody in the Canyon could prove it, hopefully, but Callie had betrayed Octavio to the NSS before taking the role of director for herself. Mere months after turning her back on the NSS and breaking the Octarian leader out of prison, Callie handed Octavio back to Marie and Agent 4 on a metaphorical silver platter. The old man was senile and unfit to lead, and Callie, then his trusted aide, had taken it upon herself to fix his mistakes. What happened to Octavio afterward, she didn't know and didn't care.

And then there was the problem of the Elias twins. The same old hardliners who distrusted Callie had heaped accusations upon those two, charging them with treason and espionage and generally blaming them for the whole Octavio fiasco. Those annoying geezers were merely out for blood, eager to blame somebody for their problems, but once again they were half-right. Cece Elias, publicly an accountant in the private sector, had indeed sold secrets to their enemies in Inkopolis. Callie owed her own life, her cousin's life, and her grandfather's life to Cece, and she could not simply throw Cece under the bus and get away scot-free, especially not after Cece's widowed father was shot to death by Agent 3—that had also been Callie's fault. What wasn't her fault at this point, honestly?

So, while juggling her administrative responsibilities and trying to cover her own tracks, Callie also spent much of her time and resources on protecting the Elias sisters. Callie had even hired the disgraced Cameron "Eight" Elias to work for her, which had proved to be a great decision. Eight was both completely in the dark about Cece's connection to the NSS and an incredibly loyal, well-disciplined soldier. Heck, calling the former Octarian Lieutenant a mere _soldier_ was doing her a disservice, Callie thought. Eight was Agent 3 levels of good, capable of getting things done without question in record time.

Callie couldn't afford to tell Eight the whole truth. Not yet. There was no telling how she might react. Callie felt rather guilty about keeping secrets from Eight, especially since Eight was the one risking her neck out there. Callie had been in that position herself before, as an NSS field operative. But currently, the missing persons reports and Kamabo Corporation's apparent involvement with them were more pressing than anything else and needed to be addressed first.

And if Callie was right about who she thought was behind it all, then things were about to get quite messy.

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	3. Chapter 3

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 **Friday, 2:00 p.m.  
** **Bottom of Mount Nantai**

Natalie wiped the sweat off her forehead and peered up at the mountain looming before her. Mount Nantai was one of the high peaks on the border between Inkling and Octarian territory, normally a full day's hike even for someone as physically fit as Nat. And she had already powered through several hours of Octo Valley crags—after packing up her gear and taking a cab out of Inkopolis, she had walked the rest of the way here. Anyone else in her position would probably be exhausted from traveling and intimidated by the size of Nantai.

But Nat Tilus didn't like stopping for breaks. She didn't like stopping for anything. As she began her ascent, Nat focused her thoughts, driving away distractions, worries, and second guesses. If she got into trouble, then she would need her mind and body to work together at one hundred percent. That meant she couldn't afford to waste brainpower on any irrelevant concerns. Focusing her thoughts kept her mentally rested and ready, which was more than enough of a break.

At what she estimated to be 150 meters up, she stopped on the trail and unslung her pack. She zipped open her backpack on the ground and pulled out a black suitcase. Inside the suitcase was a host of surveillance gear—binoculars, a drone, a small tablet computer—and Nat removed a container of bark putty along with a point sensor beacon. Putting the tube of putty in her mouth and sticking the beacon in her pocket, she shimmied up a cypress tree. On the second-lowest branch, she fastened the point sensor beacon to the branch. Then, she pointed its camera towards the trail in the direction she came from and turned the beacon on. Finally, she squeezed the tube in her mouth and molded bark putty around the beacon's strap to better camouflage it on the tree. The point sensor beacons were hard to spot with the naked eye already, but the putty blended them in with their surroundings even more.

She climbed back down and picked up the tablet from her suitcase. She clicked the tablet on, and the screen revealed a video feed from her deployed beacon. These old, low-resolution cameras were outdated tech, but they got the job done well enough, letting her keep tabs on her surroundings and track anyone passing by. Concealable, cheap, and remotely destructible, the point sensor beacons were Nat's choice for quick, in-and-out jobs in places without existing surveillance infrastructure. Like a mountain in Octarian territory, for example.

Satisfied that the first beacon was working, Nat nodded to herself and packed her things back up before continuing down the trail. For an hour or so, she installed another beacon every few hundred meters, then abruptly broke off the trail to cut through the woods. After another hour of weaving through trees, clambering over rocks, and scaling inclines, she reached a small clearing with a cave. Here, she set up camp, unrolling her sleeping bag inside the cave and dumping her pillow on top. The former Agent 3 set up six more beacons in the trees around the clearing, then ate a granola bar while checking on them. They were all operational, with no activity detected thus far.

Nat plopped onto her pillow and closed her eyes, leaving the tablet running. She didn't want to go any further before the sun went down—if there really were Octarians on Mount Nantai, then she would need the cover of night to keep herself hidden. Furthermore, she had learned the hard way that it was important to get some shut-eye whenever possible. Nat hated staying in place for any length of time, but resting up and waiting for nightfall was probably the most productive thing she could do right now.

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 **Friday, 4:49 p.m.  
** **Near the summit**

Eight stared out the window of her cable car. The view was by all accounts beautiful, but Eight had never able to appreciate the wonders of nature. Where her friends saw gorgeous mountain vistas, Eight estimated round-trip hiking distances, and where her friends oohed and aahed at colorful sunsets, Eight searched for places where an enemy might hide in the coming darkness of night. To her, nature was just the set of conditions she had to deal with.

The cable car moved into a tunnel cut into the side of Mount Nantai. It wasn't really a cable car anymore, though it served the same purpose as one. The Octarian government had recently replaced every single one of the rickety, mechanical gondolas connecting their territory with solar-powered, magnetic monorails, courtesy of Director Cuttlefish. The new system was supposed to be much faster, much quieter, and much safer. So far, Callie had been right about the first two points, but only time would tell how safe these monorails really were. Eight, for what her opinion was worth, found herself worrying less about falling to her death when riding the newer cars.

She stepped out of the monorail cab and into Kamabo Corporation's west station. Around her, Eight noticed maps painted onto the concrete walls and a big sign that denoted the current elevation of 2,060 meters. The facility had been built into and below Mount Nantai decades ago and recently revived when Callie ordered to have the place refurbished. As part of the director's efforts to create new jobs, Kamabo Co. had been transformed into an all-in-one manufacturing, storage, and shipping center. Of course, the place also handled weapons development, which was perfectly normal for a government-owned Octarian facility, but Callie had specifically instructed Eight to check out those parts of the facility first tonight. Callie had never been a fan of anything war-related and distrusted the Canyon's research and development centers.

Two armed guards shot Eight a quizzical look. They were expecting her, but Eight supposed that few people ever came up at this hour. A third figure sat on a bench. That man was probably Callie's contact, given his large size and conspicuous appearance. Callie had said to look for somebody interesting.

Eight approached him and bowed with her hands behind her back, a distinctly Octarian introduction. "Evening, sir. Are you my new boss?" Eight spoke. If this was her guy, then he would understand exactly what she meant.

Iso Padre rose to his full height, and Eight instinctively took a step back. He was much larger than she had expected. The eight-foot-tall Bathynomus kept his many pairs of arms crossed as he examined her, his eyes hidden behind round sunglasses. Clad in all black, he followed the same professional dress code as Eight herself. He was a manager at Kamabo Co., according to Callie, in charge of dealing with workers and supporting Callie's agenda from behind the scenes.

Iso Padre uncrossed the highest pair of arms and clasped his palms together, returning the bow. "Greetings, Miss Meri Tursas," he spoke, calling Eight by her false name. "You've kept me waiting, I trust for good reason." He didn't actually mean it, of course. Eight's "boss" was speaking with a simple cipher. He had extended the formalities with an encoded message of _I trust you ran into no trouble on the way here_.

Eight responded in kind, saying, "Apologies, sir. I meant you no disrespect." _Nothing at all, thank you for asking_.

He led her past the guards, who appeared comically small next to him. One of the guards straightened his stance and tried to stop them. "D-Doesn't she need to check in, sir?" he muttered, pointing to a check-in desk. The other guard tightened his grip on his Octo Shot.

"No need, she is already cleared for duty," Iso Padre spoke, his voice booming and deep but exceedingly calm. "Miss Tursas will start working right away." He was still speaking in code, and Eight had almost missed his message. Replace _she is_ with _you are_ , and he was telling her that _they would get to business soon_.

Eight followed the giganteus down an elevator and through several well-lit, concrete tunnels full of more armed guards, workers with safety goggles, and automated mover dollies carrying metal boxes. The plan was for him to take Eight to the actual assembly area, which was a crowded gymnasium full of nooks and crannies. There, she would hide until the workers signed off around 8 p.m. in the evening. Eight would then only have to worry about a few guards as she snuck around the facility at night.

"Not down that way, I'm afraid," Iso Padre explained in code as two more guards brushed past and marched down a side hallway. _I suspect something bad happens down that way_ , he meant.

Eight took note of the fact that they were currently in a sector labeled B09. Then, she asked him, "Are you tasked with much work, sir?" _Have you found out anything on your own?_

"A manager's job is never done, but I've still got time for the family." _Nothing of use to the director yet._

They arrived at a sector labeled A03, two down from the Kamabo Co. assembly lines. The place looked like a regular old warehouse, Eight thought. Boxes piled on top of each other, a high ceiling, concrete flooring, the whole nine yards.

"Several hours yet remain until sundown, my child," Iso Padre said, dropping code. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait for some time."

"I'll be fine," Eight chuckled as she stepped into an aisle between two stacks of boxes. "Thanks for making all the logistics a breeze."

"Not a problem at all," Iso Padre responded. It wasn't until his footsteps faded into the distance that Eight realized she had never even asked for his name. Callie had told her that it was either Isaac or Tyson or something, but Eight couldn't quite remember which. She had never been good with names.

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 **Friday, 5:15 p.m.  
Flounder Heights**

"What's on your mind?" asked Pearl.

Marina hit both brakes and squeezed the clutch. The motorcycle came to a full stop, and the Octoling put her left foot down to steady herself. Pearl unhooked both arms from Marina's waist and hopped out of the passenger seat, pulling her helmet off. Marina wordlessly removed her key from the ignition, and the two of them entered the apartment complex.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Marina," Pearl prodded. She could tell when her friend's thoughts were swimming around. Whether that was because she hung out with Marina all the time or because her Octoling friend was basically an open book, Pearl didn't know. It was probably a bit of both. And right now, Marina clearly had ideas brewing in her head. Her eyes had that vacant, faraway look to them, her brow was furrowed, and her usual hand gesturing completely stopped after they had left the DPC headquarters. Somewhere in Marina's head was an adventure that Pearl would have liked to be a part of.

Marina slowly chewed on one of her turquoise fingernails as they silently rode the elevator up to the sixth floor. Marina was worried. Craig Cuttlefish's Echolocator data had pointed out something potentially very serious happening on Mount Nantai. Though the old captain's rudimentary scanners lacked the ability to pick up fine details, they could still tell when something was off. Over the past week, hundreds of individuals from Octarian territory had gone into Mount Nantai, but only a few dozen or so had left every night. The number entering the place was more than double the number coming out. This was more than just some random place where the Octarians had set up shop, Marina realized. This was something more like an army gathering its strength and holing up in a stronghold. Furthering that notion was the fact that a sizeable amount of equipment was also disappearing into Mount Nantai, and a lot of it was more than big enough to be picked up by the Echolocator. Weapons, their adviser had suggested.

"I'm just… worried. I'm worried, Pearlie," Marina responded, many minutes after the question had been asked.

Pearl nodded. "I can tell," she said as they unlocked the door to Marina's apartment. Marina was always processing a million things in her head at once, Pearl had come to understand. And when things got serious, when the things in her friend's head got really worrisome, then her speech would start having this funny delay to it. But Marina was also always listening—Pearl loved that about her. Marina always heard everything she said and always replied sooner or later. Nothing ever escaped Marina's attention, which included Pearl's contributions to discussions, her offhand remarks, and even her irrelevant questions. Marina's crazy good awareness forced her to watch what she said, but it also made Pearl feel like her ideas were valued. Everything she said around Marina mattered. Not even Pearl's own family gave that much of a damn about what she thought.

"Worried about what, Marina?"

"Craig's findings," said the Octoling engineer, attention focused on her computer. She powered on her hefty desktop computer and pulled up the city camera logs. "And you noticed that girl from work!"

In addition to giving the duo remote access to all city cameras, the DPC had given them enough funding to design, build, and deploy an entire fleet of automated camera drones. The little flying eyes recorded everything on their own, but they could also be manually overridden and controlled individually if need be. Marina had used her flying eyes countless times to track down burglars, follow runaway vehicles, and amass a database of visual evidence on anything that happened in or around Inkopolis. All of the camera feeds were stored on the DPC's servers and automatically analyzed by Marina's computer vision algorithms for signs of criminal activity.

And this afternoon, in-between discussions with the DPC Deputy Director, Pearl had caught a glimpse of one lone Inkopolis citizen leaving the city by taxi—one of the drones had picked her up on its live feed. It was the same girl who had met with Craig and held them up earlier in the day. With camping gear and hiking clothes, she seemed to be heading in the direction of Mount Nantai. Both and Pearl and Marina had recognized her on their screens at work, and Marina was now running a face scan with the city's population registry to find out who she was. Their co-workers at the DPC would have found this sort of thing creepy and weird.

"Yeah, that was no coincidence," Pearl surmised. "Any idea who she is yet?"

Marina pursed her lips. "I've got a match," she said, looking at her monitor. "Natalie Tilus, a Turf War professional."

Pearl's hand went to her chin. "Wouldn't a professional paintball player have weekday practices? What's she doing by herself out in the Valley? And why did Old Craig bring her in?"

Marina drummed her fingers on the keyboard, biting the inside of her cheek. Pearl had spent most of the afternoon pitching a case for an official investigation. She had convinced the Deputy Director to put up a public travel advisory against going anywhere near Mount Nantai and configured Marina's drones to specifically keep watch over anyone coming from or leaving for that place. That left this random seventeen-year-old athlete as the only person stranded out there. The DPC couldn't mobilize anyone until tomorrow at the earliest, even with Craig's intel and Pearl's urging.

"You know," Pearl added. "I doubt the registry has the full story on Natalie. How much you wanna bet she's ex-NSS?"

"One of Craig's former operatives? She's too young, Pearl."

"Ten bucks says Cap sent this kid up to Mount Nantai with the same intel he gave us this morning. No other reason she'd be there."

"Hm, maybe."

Pearl smiled to herself and started going toward the kitchen. "Calling it now, _gifted athlete turns to covert ops_. Check her records."

Marina clicked around on her screen a few times. "There's a two-year gap in her history between graduating high school and joining the League. Natalie had a place of residence in the city then, but no recorded job. Lives alone. She totally could be a trained agent."

"See? Told ya!" Pearl shouted from the kitchen. She opened the fridge, grabbed a carton of orange juice with pulp—the best kind of orange juice, and poured herself a glass. They should have guessed that the old asshole was holding out on them, Pearl thought. Craig fancied himself a spymaster or something.

"Natalie couldn't have gone too far," Pearl said. "Send some fliers to Mount Nantai to keep an eye on her, check out what she's doing."

"Way ahead of you, Pearlie," the Octoling shouted back. With her fingers sliding across touchscreen controls that she herself had coded up, Marina selected three freshly-charged drones and directed them deep into Octarian territory. There were a couple of hiking trails that wound around Nantai, and Marina decided to start there. Her flying eyes were fast, but getting them to the mountain would still take several hours.

Pearl finished her drink and came back to Marina's desk. "Let's grab something to eat while we wait," she said, resting her chin on her seated friend's shoulder.

"Don't your parents want you home for dinner?" asked Marina. She didn't actually want Pearl to leave—Marina enjoyed her company—but the Enperries kept a tight leash on their only daughter. Even at twenty-one, Pearl could not boast the level of independence that Marina had. It wasn't really a fair comparison, she understood. Marina had left her family behind and defected from her homeland under the threat of death, while Pearl had grown up with a whole network of powerful people backing everything she did. Marina had nobody to count on anymore, and nobody was counting on her, but everyone was watching Pearl, the figurative heiress to an empire, to make sure that she lived up to her name. Of course her parents would keep an eye on her every move. From her schooling to her employment to her public image, Pearl's connections followed her throughout Inkopolis. They were both a blessing and a curse that opened many doors at the cost of her freedom.

The short little Inkling had other qualities, however. Pearl's energy and unwavering support of everything and anything Marina tried to do contrasted sharply with the Octarian military's stifling, results-driven system. She was the perfect hype man, both on and off the stage. And Pearl possessed inspiring leadership and speech-making abilities, which reflected her privileged education—Pearl even knew how to read and write Octarian. In fact, she had taught Marina the Inkling language during their first couple months of friendship together, for which Marina was eternally grateful.

"I already told them I'm staying over at your place," Pearl answered. "And come on, I'm a big girl now. I do whatever I wanna."

"Awesome. Where do you wanna eat?"

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	4. Chapter 4

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 **Friday, 8:53 p.m.  
** **Halfway up Mount Nantai**

Activity detected. Natalie jerked awake. She grabbed her tablet and saw that one of her beacons was recording movement. A group of Octolings was heading down the trail. Nat watched them for a few minutes as they flitted about the edge of her screen, too far away from the camera to make out in the dark. But she could tell that they were Octarians, just as Captain Cuttlefish had suspected. The group's standing posture was too tense and robotic to be anything else.

The Octolings were nowhere near the clearing, thankfully, and they seemed to be heading toward Octo Valley. Going home for the night, presumably. Nat checked her smartwatch and mentally mapped out their location and direction of travel, preparing to retrace the group's steps to whatever hole they had crawled out of. She began packing a few items into her backpack, namely, her gun, a flashlight, a spare ammo drum, binoculars, and a medical kit. She hesitated when she saw the last item in her suitcase but ultimately decided to make space in her backpack for the drone as well.

The drone was a miniature quadcopter armed with a high-definition camera, and its shape reminded Nat of a sailboat hull. She affectionately called the thing her "Seeker." She had named it after her favorite childhood toy, a wind-up hovercraft that would seek out bright lights using a light sensor. One time, she had taken her toy down to the creek to try running it against the current, only to have a group of three boys steal and ultimately break the toy. After going home in tears, she told everyone what had happened, which prompted her best friend Cole to beat the tar out of those boys. They never bothered her again.

That had to have been nine or ten years ago. Nat's childhood seemed at once so recent and yet so long ago, with just as many parts of the memory vivid as there were faded. She clearly remembered the shape of her broken toy, the boys' sneering faces, and Cole's fit of rage like yesterday, but the physical appearance of the creek, the order of events that day, and the feeling of sadness that had brought her to tears were either fuzzy or lost to time. Funny how memories worked, she thought.

Nat doubted that anybody would be able to see her Seeker Drone in the dead of night now, let alone snatch it. And even if somebody did manage to steal it, she could mess them up herself. She wasn't exactly a child anymore.

Having finished stuffing everything into her backpack, she draped a black cloak around herself. The night was getting chilly, and it would only get colder as she went higher. She left the cave and made her way to where the point sensor beacon had first caught sight of the Octolings. While they weren't the rambunctious, indiscreet teenagers of Inkopolis who made a mess everywhere they went, they had still left visible tracks through the woods. She screwed her flashlight under the barrel of her gun and clicked it on and off a few times before shining it straight ahead. Footprints, crushed undergrowth, and bent branches marked the exact route that the group had taken down the mountain. She followed it back up.

The trail went cold fifty minutes later, stopping at a small building surrounded by a chain-link fence. The building appeared to be some kind of cable car station with a rail coming out of the top. This was new, Nat realized. The design of the station was more advanced than that of a standard mechanical gondola. And the rail was not a regular cable suspended above the forest, but rather a rectangular beam that ran just under the top of the trees, making it hard to spot from a distance. It looked like the monorails that snaked through Inkopolis.

The station was open but completely dark, and there was nothing useful inside. No car, no way to call for it, and no controls anywhere. The thing about Octarian tech that had always stumped her was their lack of interfaces. She could never figure out how to work the machines. She didn't see a good way to climb onto the rail itself, either, which left her with only one option: she had to follow the rail up the mountain until it ended.

Nat turned her flashlight off but kept the gun drawn as she began to walk under the monorail. The path was horribly steep, and several times she nearly lost her footing when the dirt her underneath came loose. Silently, she cursed the Octarians and their annoying capacity to get things built in the darndest of places.

The moon was directly overhead by the time she stumbled upon a tunnel. The overhead rail had curved downwards, going below the trees and into the side of the mountain. It went into a wide hole big enough for several trucks to clear.

She peered into the tunnel's gaping darkness, catching her breath. No way she was going in there blind. She pulled the Seeker Drone out of her backpack and laid it gently on the ground. Then, she grabbed the controller and sent the drone into the air. It wobbled a bit before righting itself at a steady altitude. The Seeker's camera powered on a few moments later, sending a live feed to her smartwatch.

She flew the drone down the tunnel, making use of the camera's built-in night vision to avoid hitting the walls. The smartwatch video feed showed only concrete, rock, and railway for a while, then suddenly took an abrupt, ninety-degree turn left into another cable car station. This one was well-lit and furnished with benches, windows, and a check-in desk. Nat thought she could make out some doors that led even deeper into the mountain.

An Octarian guard stood watch outside the station. Upon noticing the flying drone, he took aim at it with his rifle. Nat slammed on the decrease altitude button and pulled her Seeker back, but the guard's trigger finger was faster than her wireless latency. He fired, and the video feed went blank.

Well, shit, she thought. Time to go get her toy back.

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 **Friday, 8:54 p.m.  
** **Kamabo Co., Sector A03**

Eight ducked behind a forklift, poking her head around the side to check for guards. All clear. Kamabo Co. kept the lights on after all the warehouse workers left, which made Eight's navigation much easier, but she would have preferred them off. She was quiet enough and confident in her ability to move around undetected, but she had always considered herself something of a shadow. Darkness was her preferred environment, her area of expertise. It hampered her vision, of course, but it hampered everyone's vision. Eight's other senses were far sharper than normal. Any disadvantages suffered by not being able to see affected her half as much.

Slowly, Eight made her way back to the sector where she had entered the facility. So far, she had only taken note of two other guards still lurking about, and one was asleep at his post. The lack of manpower was a good sign—it meant that she wouldn't run into too many people. On the other hand, it did nothing to diminish the high stakes. If Eight got caught, then she'd get thrown out of this place and the whole operation would be a bust. And that was the best case scenario, where whoever was in charge believed her story about getting lost on her first day at work. In the worst case scenario, they'd lock Eight up, or shoot her on sight. Later, Eight would be identified, Callie would be implicated, and Cece's safety would be compromised.

Thankfully, the director had set protocols in place to deal with such outcomes. Eight had discussed the possibility of failure with her boss long before today, which revealed that Callie was quite the shrewd planner. The Inkling woman had thought of everything before taking Eight under her wing, from how to pay Eight to how to control the public's knowledge about their relationship. She had even promised to keep protecting Cece in the event of Eight's death.

In a way, Eight was expendable, Callie had explained. Her position as Callie's right-hand woman was one of entitlement and privilege, but also one that could be cut off, if necessary. Eight understood that her boss was playing on a much bigger field. Whereas Eight's primary concerns were simply paying rent and keeping Cece safe, Callie was wrestling with political ambition, tangled alliances, and what appeared to be a genuine interest in the greater good. If the director needed a plan for cutting her out, then so be it. Eight had no desire to betray or fail the director, and no reason to suspect that she wouldn't keep her word. Sure, the director had a strange obsession with protecting Cece—and Eight herself, to a lesser degree—but it wasn't like that was hurting anyone.

The side hallway leading to B09 came into view. Her objective was in sight. Eight didn't like how exposed the approach was, so she waited to see if any patrols passed through the hallway. After five minutes of empty silence, she held her breath, stood up, and moved in. A left, a right, and another right took her to Sector B09 proper of Kamabo Corporation.

Iso Padre had apparently been right about the "something bad happening down that way," because everything here looked more like a laboratory than a shipping center. The facility took on a marked change, going from concrete floors and hanging industrial lamps to polished steel and fluorescent light tubes. The sterile, sanitized atmosphere reminded Eight of the military's examination rooms. And that was definitely a bad thing. The examination rooms were the site of all kinds of frightening, freaky experiments. Most test subjects who went in never came back out. The ones who did were the unlucky few, changed beyond recognition and turned into living weapons of war. Eight had never known any test subjects personally, but she had known people who did. They talked about the test subjects as if they had passed away.

The hallway continued straight for another fifty feet before splitting off in a T. Various doors lined the walls. Eight examined the first closed door on her left and saw a keypad and scanner next to the knob. Without a way to unlock the door, she walked down to the end of the corridor, where overhead signs pointed to "Testing Chambers" and Sectors I and D. The left split went to another closed door, and the right side led to a set of stairs. Eight tiptoed over to the top of the stairs, wary of being seen in the well-lit hallway.

As soon as she peered down the stairs, she felt a hand grab her shoulder from behind. Eight whirled around, grabbing at the guard with one hand and reaching into her belt holster with the other. Before she could draw her pistol, however, the guard caught her with the plastic butt of an Octo Shot. The blow struck the side of Eight's head, dazing her and pushing her over the stairs, but she kept an iron grip on her assailant's arm as they toppled down the steps.

When they hit the landing, Eight's head was swimming, and her hip felt like it was on fire. The other Octoling had come through the fall in much better condition, protected from the steps by body armor. Eight noticed her attacker's pale green skin and deep blue hair—an unnatural appearance for an Octoling. The strangely-colored guard was back on two feet before Eight could even get to her knees.

There was nothing she could do when the rifle butt came down again.

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	5. Chapter 5

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 **Friday, 10:30 p.m.  
** **Flounder Heights**

"Marina, take a look at this."

Pearl wheeled her chair away from the desk as Marina leaned into the screen. The three drones had finally reached Mount Nantai, and one of them had caught something unusual in the trees. The point sensor beacon was practically invisible even to the trained eye, but Marina's video processing algorithms combined with her flying eyes' ability to detect electronics could see right through the camouflage. Highlighted in orange on Marina's computer, the beacon stared down the trail like a wary animal.

"That's not Octarian tech," Marina observed. Then, directing her voice to the computer, she ordered, "Drone 310-E, fingerprints."

The orange blob grew larger on-screen as the flying eye approached the beacon. Whoever placed the beacon there had tried to conceal it, and the bark putty they had used was covered in fingerprints. A quick scan revealed that the fingerprints matched those of a certain Natalie Tilus from Inkopolis.

"Ha! Gotcha!" Pearl cackled, scooting her chair back up to the desk. "Now we just gotta find where she went." With one hand on the mouse and the other on the screen, Pearl targeted the trail that wound around Mount Nantai, sending one drone directly down the path and two into the wilderness flanking it.

Marina examined the on-screen map. Mount Nantai was pretty big, and three flying eyes would not be enough to scour the entire place. They would need more information if they wanted to see the whole picture. And to get more information, they needed more drones.

"We gotta get more eyes over there," said Pearl, echoing Marina's thoughts.

The city had hundreds of drones flying around Inkopolis proper, but diverting more of them to Nantai was unfortunately not a feasible plan. Most of them were running on less than half charge, and the backups still needed more time to reach full battery. Even if they made it to Mount Nantai, they wouldn't be able to fly all the way back. Taking more flying eyes off their routes might also rouse the ire of their superiors—the drones technically belonged to the city, and the DPC was already being generous with giving their inventor full control.

Marina put her fingernails on her lips, mentally weighing her options. She had a whole batch of prototype drones sitting in her room that didn't belong to the DPC, with better specs and new features. They hadn't been tested yet—Marina didn't want her prototypes' maiden voyage to be out in the middle of the wilderness, but the mountain was looking incredibly suspicious tonight, especially with the strong possibility that Craig had sent one of his personal contacts to investigate. Pearl and Marina needed to take the prototypes out to Mount Nantai and get a clean sweep. That would give them a better idea of what was happening and a better chance of finding Natalie.

A small part of her mind was telling her to back off. Marina could just go to bed and let the DPC do its thing tomorrow. She technically had the weekend off. This wasn't her responsibility, and if Natalie was really an agent, then maybe she'd take care of everything. But another part of her knew that this was bad. Craig never called anyone into his office. He had certainly never bothered to talk to DPC recon people before, so his little hunch was serious. And Marina knew what the Octarians were capable of, having seen their activities firsthand. Playing it safe now could only spell trouble later down the road.

It was time to take the initiative. Marina needed eyes on Mount Nantai. She needed them now.

"The prototypes…" Marina faltered, still lost in her thoughts. "We need to go."

Pearl was already moving to gear herself up. "Mount Nantai, right now, yeah?" she asked. "I'm coming with ya. You ready the fliers, and I'll get the rest of our equipment."

Marina nodded. It was nice having someone around who could basically read her mind.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

 **Friday, 10:36 p.m.  
** **Near the summit**

Turf War was a fine sport, but at the end of the day, it was still just a sport. Bound by rules, it lacked the constantly-evolving, on-the-fly fluidity of a real operation. And after a year of killing it in the League, Nat realized that she needed to be killing bad guys for real again. She needed to get her hands dirty with a real challenge, something nebulous and tactical and improvised. When Cap called her in this morning, she practically jumped on the chance to get back into the field. She wasn't a psychopath, she told herself. She was just bored. Bored of not making a difference.

Turf War also lacked real guns. When looking at the big picture, paintball and fieldwork required the same levels of communication, physical prowess, and mental fortitude. But on a smaller scale, paintball definitely felt wrong. There was no impact to the shots. The tools didn't kick back at you. They didn't remind you of their power. The sport felt fake. So fake, in fact, that Nat had taken up visiting the shooting range six times a week to keep her skills sharp. She liked it when things were genuine. The real thing was always purer than the imitation.

She flipped off the safety on her pistol. She knew she could trust the weapon in her hands. It was a simple, older firearm that got the job done, as pure as she could get. She liked to call the black and yellow pistol her "Hero Shot." It honestly looked nothing like the guns that the good guys used in the movies, with its weird, stumpy barrel and myriad attachments, but it was the model that she had learned to shoot as a kid and the gun that she had picked out upon joining the NSS. Even with its mechanical limitations, Agent 3 had sworn to master the weapon, and now the Hero Shot was like an extension of herself.

She carefully tested her first few steps into the tunnel, trying to gauge how much of an echo her footfalls created. Nat would have to move silently in the darkness; wide, concrete tunnels like this amplified even the quietest of sounds, so running was completely out of the question. If she wanted to get her drone back, then she'd have to walk slowly. There was also the possibility that guards had already been sent out. Mount Nantai was a remote location even by Octarian standards, so she suspected that whoever was here didn't expect to get visitors in the middle of the night. She tightened her grip on the gun. If things got hot, then she would be forced to leave. She could take a bunch of stupid Octarians in the tunnel, but she couldn't take the entire facility on high alert.

Suddenly, Nat heard voices coming out of the darkness, and she froze in place. The inner station was still out of sight, hidden behind a bend in the tunnel. Whoever was talking was speaking in Octarian. Their voices seemed closer than they really were, amplified by the walls of the corridor, but the sounds were also bouncing everywhere, which made them hard to discern. She couldn't make out any individual words. The voices weren't moving toward her, so she crept closer. She peeked around the bend and squinted. There was the station, ten feet off the ground, with metal stairs leading up to the platform. A couple of lights on the ceiling illuminated the face of the building, the overhead track, and a lone guard leaning over the railing in front of the station. Below him was a group of three Octolings, huddled over the remains of her Seeker Drone.

Nat wasn't going home without her Seeker. She got on one knee and aimed up at the lone guard by the station, hoping that nobody else was up there with him. He was in the best position to call for help, after all, so he would have to go first. She squeezed the trigger, sending precisely a single bullet into the Octoling's forehead. In the confines of the tunnel, firing the suppressed round sounded like an explosion. The dead guard jerked back, then slumped forward over the railing. His ever-diligent comrades immediately turned to face the intruder, rifles at the ready. Without moving from her crouched position, Nat took two more well-aimed shots at the trio. Two more explosions. Two down. She rolled left just as the third Octoling began firing on her previous position, where he had undoubtedly seen her muzzle flash against the darkness. The snap-snap-snapping sounds of his Octo Shot were punctuated by one last explosion, and then everything went quiet.

She approached the station, ears ringing, and she surveyed her handiwork. Four for four. She picked up her Seeker and examined the damage—a bullet had passed cleanly through the camera and battery pack at the center of its body, but it was otherwise intact. Fixable with Sheldon's help, hopefully. She stuffed the broken quadcopter into her backpack and climbed up the steps two at a time. The station appeared to be empty, other than the dead Octoling outside. She pulled the gun, lanyard, and ID off his body before pushing it over the railing. An empty post would be less noticeable than a dead body, she hoped.

For several minutes, she stood outside the station, waiting for reinforcements to appear. The station was free of security cameras, but there was still a chance that some unseen guard had managed to get away, or that someone inside had heard the commotion. The guards she took out might have even called for backup beforehand, after sighting her flying drone.

But she had no way of knowing for sure, and she was getting impatient. Heck, maybe she could surprise the backup, she thought to herself as she waltzed in, curiosity getting the better of her. A door inside the station opened in the presence of a valid ID, revealing a shiny, white elevator. Upon stepping into it, the elevator closed around her and went down for a while, opening to an indoor construction site. She walked out with both arms extended, gun front and center. She swung left, right, then left again, seeing nothing. The floor looked like an ambush waiting to happen, with its wide-open space surrounded by places to hide. But nobody came out. The construction site was empty. She pressed on, eager to get to the bottom of the mystery. Overhead signs labeled her current location as "Section" or "Sector G10/E07" in Octarian letters. She followed a wall all the way up to "G04," where the road forked. Nat decided to go left. Whatever this place was, it went pretty deep.

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 **Friday, 10:38 p.m.  
** **Kamabo Co., Sector B09**

Eight was thrown to the floor. A bright light shined directly into her face, and she winced. She curled up and turned sideways in reaction, mind still clouded. When her hip touched the hard ground, pain signals shot up to her brain, partially waking her from her stupor. Eight rolled back to a centered position, reflexively preferring the light in her face over hip pain. She blinked twice, then wiggled her fingers a few times. Then she opened and closed both hands—they weren't bound. She pushed herself into a sitting position, noting her dull, throbbing headache and injured flank, and immediately saw two Octolings standing in front of the door. They were armed, and her own pistol was gone.

"Good morning," one of the guards spoke, licking his chops.

Eight rose to her feet, and the other guard was about to raise his rifle when the one who had spoken motioned for his partner to stand down. Eight stole a good look at the room—they were in a grey, square-shaped office, with a desk and chair in the corner but no windows. Empty whiteboards hung on the walls. The two guards looked like normal Octolings. Where did that green-skinned one go?

"I was attacked," Eight tried to bluff, still attempting to clear her head. "Where are we?"

The guard licked his chops again. "Attacked, you say? You were trespassing on government property, Lieutenant Cameron Elias."

So they had already figured out who she was. Eight visibly stiffened, and both guards swung their Octo Shots in her direction.

"Wait, there's some kind of mistake here," she pressed, putting her hands out in mock surrender. "My name is Meri. I work in assembly."

"Like hell you do."

"Some green freak pushed me down the stairs, and now I'm here," Eight finished. This wasn't working, but she had few options available. The room was a tad too large for her to comfortably approach the guards, and she was still disoriented from the fall. She couldn't do much other than lie through her teeth.

"Look, witch," the other guard spat. "You're a traitor to the people. We've heard stories about what you can do."

Eight gave him an incredulous look, shaking her head.

"Do you think we're stupid? Assembly workers don't carry guns on them. The commander recognized your face immediately."

Now we're getting somewhere, she thought. This was something the director would want to know. There were only so many commanders stationed in the Valley.

Eight tilted her head to the side, feigning confusion, and asked, "What's going on, here? Was your commander the green guy?"

"Enough bullshit," the first guard spoke, stepping away from the door and toward Eight. "You're gonna sit down like a good girl until he comes back."

She backed up a touch, but it wasn't just out of instinct. This was her chance. She needed to maintain enough distance between the two men while looking scared enough to provoke them. As the first guard quickly closed the gap, he licked his lips one last time and raised the handle of his Octo Shot to strike her head, leaving himself open for a split second.

That was all she needed. In one swift motion, Eight jammed her right palm into the guard's solar plexus, her left hand shooting up to grab his gun hand. As he doubled over, she spun him forward, twisted his fingers back, and wrested the Octo Shot from his grasp. She held his body in front of her, arm around his neck, and shot three times over his shoulder at the other guard, who had no time to react. Only one bullet managed to find its way to the other Octoling's face, which was more or less the best-case scenario while shooting with her left hand. With both threats neutralized, she snapped her shield's neck, shot the lock on the door, and pulled the door open.

She stepped out into a hallway and realized that she was still in B09. Somebody must have dragged her back up the stairs and dumped her into one of the locked keypad rooms. She headed straight for the exit. It was time to get out of here.

Behind Eight, a pale, discolored husk of an Octoling slunk into the hallway. The blue-haired figure could hardly be called an Octoling anymore, however, for it had been wiped clean of everything that had once made it a thinking and feeling individual.

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	6. Chapter 6

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 **Friday, 10:45 p.m.  
** **Kamabo Co., Sector B09**

Eight swung her rifle forty-five degrees left, putting her sights on a guard. He was one of the two guards she had met while entering Kamabo, and unfortunately for him, he had his gun drawn—Eight wasn't taking any chances with armed combatants right now. He went down with a single shot through the cheek, pink mist spraying out from behind his head. She stepped over his body and continued toward the exit.

She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being followed. The military had drilled supernatural survival instincts into all of its soldiers, and Eight was no exception. She was getting more than a sneaking suspicion that someone was behind her, that someone was watching her every move. For the third time in mere minutes, Eight glanced over her shoulder.

This time, she saw her stalker, sixty feet back and coming closer. Red goggles, blue hair, green skin—that was the order in which Eight had noticed the colors. The Sanitized Octoling stood on two legs, and it was roughly her height. But everything else about it was wrong. The way the thing moved was unnatural, as if it didn't belong in this world. The Octoling appeared to glide along the floor, with uncannily smooth body motions that looked almost normal but just strange enough to catch Eight's attention. Its glowing eyes, hidden behind a pair of goggles, never stopped tracking her face.

It also seemed to have decided that now was a good time to pounce. Eight spun herself completely around and emptied her last six shots into her pursuer, letting years of combat training override her base desire to flee and flee quickly. One bullet missed, three punched into its body armor, and two pierced its exposed shoulder. That would have been enough to knock down even the toughest of soldiers, but the green freak simply stumbled, as if it had tripped over itself.

And it kept on coming.

"Target acquired," the Sanitized Octoling spoke, its voice startlingly feminine and silvery. "Seek and destroy."

Now only twenty feet away from the abomination, Eight hurled her empty Octo Shot at it and began running in the other direction. The gun struck the Sanitized Octoling in the chest and glanced off of its armor—the thing didn't even seem to notice. She wasn't normal, Eight finally realized, failing to suppress her long-dormant sense of fear. This thing was a freak of nature, and she really wanted to get away from it as fast as possible.

The freak caught up to Eight less than half a second later, grabbing her shoulder. Remembering her last encounter with the green-skinned creature, where her standard counterattack had failed, Eight dropped her weight to the ground instead of turning around. Then, with her attacker thrown off balance, Eight kicked its legs out from underneath. She hesitated briefly, with her fight-or-flight response begging her to run away and her battle instincts telling her to subdue her opponent. But in the end, her training won out. She jabbed the downed abomination in the throat, a quick strike designed to incapacitate the target. With its airways cut off, the Sanitized Octoling began to spasm, mouth gulping for air and hands clawing at its throat.

Eight struggled to her feet, and she hurriedly backed away from the defeated monster as it began rolling around on the floor. Not looking where she was going, Eight backed right into the barrel of a handgun.

"Impressive," a voice said approvingly. "You truly are a one-of-a-kind specimen."

She couldn't see who was speaking, but Eight could see several guards out of the corner of her eye. Slowly, she put her hands up.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

 **One minute ago  
** **Kamabo Co., Sector B09**

Apparently, turning left was the wrong move, because Natalie was now stuck in the middle of some kind of firefight. There was a female Octoling coming toward her and several dead males in the hallway. Nat couldn't get a clear view of the mess, but she could tell that the female one was winning. In fact, the woman seemed to be killing everyone in her way. Nat could hear the Octoling's footsteps coming closer and decided to stay put—nobody had discovered Nat's position around the corner, yet, and she wanted it to stay that way.

The footsteps suddenly stopped. Nat tightened her grip and breathed in. Had she been found? Could that woman sense her presence? Who was she? Nat wondered. The woman seemed incredibly capable for an Octoling—the Octarians were notoriously bad at cultivating top talent, with the military preferring to stick all of its soldiers into the same mold. Outliers were rare, to say the very least.

Just as Nat was about to peek out with her Hero Shot, she heard the Octoling shoot first. Not once, not twice, but six times. That was probably the all the ammo she had left, Nat realized, ducking back and covering her head. But the shots weren't aimed at her position. Instead, they seemed to be aimed at somebody else on the other side of the hallway. A more immediate threat, possibly. Whoever was bearing down on the female Octoling didn't stop, though, and Nat could hear another voice speaking in the Octarian language, saying something about destroying targets.

The sound of a blunt impact finally piqued Nat's curiosity enough to take a look. Peering around the corner, she saw the now-unarmed female Octoling drop to the ground and kick out her opponent's knees. The other Octoling fell, bleeding from bullet wounds in its shoulder. Even more interesting were the fallen fighter's glowing red eyes and artificial-looking green skin, which reminded Nat of a life-sized porcelain doll. One that was discolored and creepy.

The female Octoling smashed her fist into the living doll's neck but was quickly surrounded by comparatively normal-looking guards. The woman put her hands behind her head, and one of the guards—no, their leader, actually—began complimenting her abilities in his native tongue.

"Normally, I'd kill traitors like you," the leader continued, with Nat struggling to parse his fast Octarian speech. "But you've come at the perfect time. My good men have made a breakthrough with the Sanitization process, and we've run out of test subjects."

From the shadows, Nat examined the lead Octoling. He was a heavyset, imposing individual with a military-style coat draped over his shoulders. He had boxy, broad shoulders that suggested a history with the military, but the man was well past his prime by now. His once-black hair was slicked back, greying tips showing through. His right hand, which was currently sticking a handgun into the small of the female's back, was steady and firm, but his entire left arm had been replaced by a prosthesis that looked like an old telephone. One of his legs was nothing more than a straight metal pole.

"You don't seem to like the idea, Lieutenant Elias," he spoke again, "Sanitization is reserved for the best and the brightest. Quite an honor, really."

"Is that what you did to her?" the woman asked, nodding at the green Octoling on the ground.

The burly Octoling laughed, taking his gun off of Lieutenant Elias as his guards restrained her. "Bingo," he said. "Smoothed over her minor genetic deviations, cleaned out her unnecessary self-awareness, and put her body one step closer to perfection. Imagine being unable to feel pain, being immune to diseases and temptations!"

"I think I'm good."

The leader laughed again and walked further away from Nat's position, metal peg leg clanking against the hard floor. The group followed him down the hall, taking the woman out of sight. "I don't recall _you_ asking for permission to conduct industrial espionage," Nat heard the leader say as the group disappeared down another corridor.

Things were getting interesting, Nat thought to herself. And she had heard that name before. Who else had the last name of Elias? She waited for a full minute before moving to follow the crowd. Nat resolved to help out the female lieutenant. She couldn't spare too much brain power thinking about it right now, but Nat felt like she owed Ms. Elias big time, whoever she was.

Nat stole one more look at the Sanitized Octoling, which had been left on the ground. It was no longer moving, and its pale green skin had turned blue.

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 **Friday, 10:46 p.m.  
** **Calamari County**

A pair of katydids droned on and on as the rest of the forest surrounding Cuttlefish's dovetail cabin came to life. Crickets chirped, frogs croaked, and the river bubbled along, reflecting distorted sections of the moon on its broken, rippling surface. These were the nicest two acres in all of Calamari County, in the captain's opinion, The view was excellent and there were no neighbors for miles around. He had bought the land with his own money and had built the house himself several decades ago.

As nightfall descended upon the countryside, it left the aging veteran alone with his thoughts. In his mind, he and only he understood what was at stake. He alone knew that trouble was brewing but had no way to handle it. Mount Nantai was going to become an even bigger problem if he didn't manage to convince the slow-ass higher-ups that it was worth investigating.

Counterintelligence was a dangerous game. Even with his wits and experience, the captain still made wrong moves. Last year, when Agent 3 was out of commission, Octavio had brazenly infiltrated Inkopolis and taken several hostages in broad daylight. Short on time, intel, and manpower, Captain Cuttlefish had ordered his remaining agents to rescue the hostages. It was a risky move. Ultimately, the agents stopped the Octarian terrorists and no hostages were hurt, but Agent 4 was nearly killed after he took a bullet and a suffered a collapsed lung. His recovery was quick, thankfully, and he was hailed as a hero by the public despite being only a new recruit. But the captain hated making uninformed snap-decisions like this. The media hated it even more, and they painted a picture of a cold, heartless tyrant unafraid to order his subordinates to death. That led to a whole slew of discoveries regarding the NSS and the captain's unsanctioned, questionably-legal activities, as well as the NSS's dissolution and Cuttlefish's installation as a DPC adviser. Inkopolis recognized the old man's abilities and contributions, but the city officials also wanted to keep an eye on him. By placing him in the DPC, they were killing two birds with one stone.

Now the DPC was holding him back. The new organization followed rules to the letter. It was afraid to take risks, afraid to let someone like Cuttlefish put more lives on the line. What nobody seemed to understand was that agents were trained to get out there. Agents willingly, voluntarily, eagerly risked their lives so that the common folk wouldn't have to. They weren't brutish, gun-toting cowboys. NSS agents were professionals who were trained to deal with terrorist attacks, but apparently such an obvious notion was beyond most people.

Even after last year's hostage situation, Inkopolis simply lacked the conviction to protect its citizens. Few people understood how serious such a task could be, and fewer still placed its importance above that of their own pursuits. Inklings, especially, in Captain Cuttlefish's opinion, had a tendency to slack off and avoid challenging themselves. They wanted to live easy lives. They eschewed verbal confrontations, inconvenient truths, and difficult-to-understand concepts, and this intellectual laziness was their species' fatal flaw. Laziness was their critical weakness.

The old man sighed. A long time ago, he had put together a top-secret organization to address this very weakness. Recruiting the best and the brightest, the NSS began taking measures to ensure national security so that the people of the city wouldn't have to worry about anything. But this approach had backfired. As long as the NSS kept their activities a secret from the public, Inkopolis as a whole remained completely ignorant. And as long as Inkopolis remained ignorant, it remained intellectually lazy. For almost eighty years, Cuttlefish had coddled his countrymen, lulling them into a false sense of security. Part of him believed that it had been necessary. The captain and his agents had done a fine job of protecting the homeland, after all, and the common people had been able to focus on their personal lives. Another part of him regretted it, however. He felt responsible for turning the younger generations into incapable dullards. He was the reason why they lacked vision and the reason why they had seen it fit to ax the NSS, the very organization that had protected them and sacrificed so much. He was the reason why the DPC was what it was.

He had done everything in his power today to direct the overfed behemoth of an organization toward Nantai. He had talked to officials, clued the recon team girls into his thoughts, and even sent Agent 3 out. He had put up a good fight, but now it was out of his hands. Unable to think of anything further, Cuttlefish retired for the night and went to bed. He missed the good old days when things still made sense and problems could be solved efficiently.

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	7. Chapter 7

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 **Friday, 11:05 p.m.  
** **Kamabo Co., Sector E02**

Natalie followed the group of Octolings down a winding hallway, moving from corner to corner and staying out of sight. A right and a left brought her to a massive steel cylinder in the middle of what looked like an Octarian examination room. The room itself took on a blue-gray tint, with dim, fluorescent tubes providing just enough light to see what was in front of her. Smaller glass cylinders lined the walls, most of which contained individual Octarians suspended in a clear fluid. Some looked like they were still alive, but the others... not so much.

On closer inspection, the encased Octarians weren't exactly dead, though they certainly appeared to be less-than-alive. Their skin took on a greenish tint, like that living doll from earlier, and their eyes were clouded and glazed over as if they had gone blind. Nat shuddered. She had seen examination rooms like this in the Valley before, each running their own set of experiments on living test subjects, but Octarians normally preferred external modifications. Body attachments, integrated armor, and grafted limbs were in fashion a few years back. Whatever these test tubes were pumping into their hapless occupants, however, was changing them from the inside out. This was a new type of bio-weapon.

"Please, step right inside," the lead Octoling's voice sounded. "Don't be shy."

Ahead, Nat could see Lieutenant Elias. The guards—Nat counted eight of them in total—pushed the woman into the black, metal cylinder at the center of the room and slammed the door shut. Their leader went to the back of the room and began issuing orders to his men, who all took positions on various consoles and keyboards along the walls.

"Commander Tartar!" one of the guards shouted. "We're ready for reformatting. Give us the word, and we'll guide her mind to the Promised Land!"

Nat had no idea what the hell was happening, but that sounded like her cue. If she wanted to help the lieutenant, then this would be her last chance to do so. Twelve shots in her gun, nine armed baddies including the big guy in the back—there wasn't a lot of room for error, but Nat had faced tighter challenges before. She took a breath, then stepped out from behind a test tube and rushed in. Two bullets pierced two heads, and the two nearest Octolings slumped over their controls. Before anyone could react, Nat ran forward and took out another three guards with shots to the mouth, nose, and ear.

If you catch your enemy off-guard, Cap'n Cuttlefish had taught her, then close in. Press the advantage. Nat never stopped moving, working her way around the cylinder and placing well-aimed bullets into her surprised foes. Two more took them to the face as they turned around. One standing guard got it in the eye before he could raise his weapon. The last Octoling on the other side of the room tried to take cover, but Nat tagged him in the foot as he dove behind a rack. A close-up headshot put him out of his misery.

Three bullets left. Nat glanced left, where she thought the leader would be standing, but saw nothing. A flash of black in the corner of her vision caught her attention, and she whirled around to face it. Nearly one hundred feet away, the commander was fleeing, running out the way he had come in. How did he move so quickly? Nat wondered. He had evaded her sights and cleared the entire room in just seconds. That was impressive, especially considering his age and metal peg leg.

She wanted to give chase, but the lieutenant was still inside the machine. Nat looked into the windows of the central chamber, noticing the prisoner's face in one of them. She gave the woman a nod, who responded by gesturing toward the locked door with her chin.

"How do I open this here thang?" Nat asked aloud.

The Octoling shrugged.

Remembering her stolen ID, Nat pulled the card out of her front pocket and tried swiping it across every surface on the cylinder. No response. Then, she yanked the ID card off one of the dead guards and tried swiping that on the cylinder instead. Still no response. The door remained locked. The female Octoling inside simply stared at her with an exasperated look on her face.

"How does this work?" Nat shouted.

The Octoling looked down at the guards. Nat followed her gaze, and it landed on a rifle. She picked up the Octo Shot—Nat had never liked these inelegant, mass-produced pieces of garbage—and aimed at the door of the cylinder.

"Okay, watch out!" Nat spoke, hoping the woman inside could hear. The Octoling's face disappeared from the window, and Nat squeezed the trigger.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

 **Friday, 11:09 p.m.  
** **Kamabo Co., Sector E02**

Eight had already resigned herself to her fate. The Commander would turn her into a mindless monster, and she'd never go home again. There would be no way out of this one; she was locked inside this big machine and her hands were quite literally tied, bound behind her back with thick wires. She was busy praying that Callie would keep Cece safe when the people outside suddenly began dropping like rocks. She could hear suppressed gunshots and see splatters of magenta—someone had opened fire on the group outside.

Eight threw herself to the ground until the shooting stopped. When she got up again and took a peek out of one of the windows, she saw a single Inkling standing over a roomful of dead bodies. It was a girl, Eight realized. A short little Inkling girl wearing a black hoodie and wrapped in a tattered black cloak. Who was she?

The little girl turned and nodded at Eight, holstering her black and yellow pistol. Unsure of how to respond, Eight pointed her chin at the door. The Inkling responded by shouting something that she couldn't really hear and didn't understand. Eight shrugged in response. Then the Inkling began poking around at the cylindrical chamber and shouting more indecipherable words in what Eight realized was the Inkling language. They couldn't understand each other.

 _Shoot the door_ , Eight wanted to say. She drew her gaze to one of the guns on the ground, and thankfully, the Inkling seemed to get the message. The short, black-clad warrior lifted up a bloodied Octo Shot, pointed it at the door handle, and shouted a warning of some sort. Then she began firing, just as Eight moved clear of the doorway.

Bullets punched through steel, tearing neat holes into the latch and metal around it. The locking mechanism fell out of the door after a full second of taking fire. The Inkling kicked the door open, and Eight backed away from what was probably the third major threat to her life in this accursed facility. But the girl only lowered her gun, giving Eight a big, goofy grin. Eight straightened up, puffed her chest out, and bowed.

"You just saved my life," Eight spoke in her native tongue, hoping that the message would be obvious enough for the Inkling to understand. "Thank you."

The Inkling blinked and said nothing for a second, leading Eight to falsely conclude that she couldn't understand Octarian. Then the Inkling opened her mouth. "You are welcome," the girl responded in nearly-perfect Octarian.

Eight stared at her rescuer in surprise, and her rescuer stared right back. Who was she? Eight wondered, hands still tied behind her back. What kind of teenage Inkling could speak Octarian and kill so many armed guards without even breaking a sweat?

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

Nat recognized the Octoling's face almost immediately. From far away, Lieutenant Elias looked like any other Octoling, but up close, Nat could see a striking resemblance to Cece Elias, the NSS informant stationed in the Canyon. They had the same puffy red hair, and they were both freakishly tall, at least by Inkling standards. The lieutenant stood more than a whole foot over her.

That was where she had heard the name before, Nat realized. This woman was Cece's twin sister. Lieutenant Cameron Elias was in the military and had no idea that Cece was a spy, but beyond that, Nat knew nothing about the woman.

She did know, however, that she had killed both of the lieutenant's parents. The mother was a soldier, someone Nat had shot down in battle three years ago and someone she wouldn't apologize for. The father, on the other hand, was an unintended casualty. Nat had accidentally murdered him while escaping an Octarian compound. She would have liked to say that his face haunted her dreams, but in reality, Nat couldn't even remember what he looked like. She had shot the civilian researcher and pushed him out of her mind like nothing had ever happened—it was one thing to be a killer, but it was another thing to be a psychopath who killed and forgot, who killed without reason or remorse. Nat began to question her entire line of work after that incident. In fact, she had essentially quit—the dissolution of the NSS combined with the start of a new Turf War season gave her the perfect opportunity to leave all the killing behind.

But at the end of the day, there were still a lot of assholes out there, and if Nat didn't take care of them, then nobody would. There were many people out there, Octarian and Inkling alike, who wanted money, fame, or power so badly that they were willing to hurt others. These kinds of people often slipped under the radar. They jumped through loopholes in the law to achieve their ends. They deserved to die, and Nat's job was to find and kill them. The positive impact of her work outweighed the negative impact of a few unfortunate deaths, as heartless as it sounded. That was just how counterterrorism worked. Cece and Eight had lost both of their parents, but the city of Inkopolis was still standing—she had nothing against the Octoling twins, but such a tradeoff was more than worth it in the grand scheme of things.

"Who are you?" Nat asked innocently. Acting like a complete stranger would be best, she decided. Cece had been surprisingly forgiving, but Nat didn't want to test the other twin. The lieutenant wouldn't need to know anything about her past work.

"Eight," the Octoling responded.

"What?"

"The name's Eight. Call me Eight."

"I am Three," Nat spoke as she untied Eight's hands.

Eight chuckled. "That's not your real name, is it?"

"You are a number. So am I."

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

Eight massaged her wrists and laughed. "Three" had a bit of an accent. More precisely, she spoke with very simple words and phrases. Talking to the Inkling was like talking to a small child, except for the fact that this child had just killed eight people with nine bullets and saved her from an undoubtedly terrible fate. In hindsight, Eight realized that this Inkling deserved a lot more respect than Eight was giving her.

"Let me try that again," Eight pleaded. Getting on the young warrior's bad side would be foolish. "My name is Lieutenant Cameron Elias, but everyone just calls me Eight. It's my nickname."

The so-called Three nodded, scoffing to herself.

Eight hesitated, then asked, "So why'd you save me?"

"You are a good person," the little warrior answered somewhat slowly, making her way out of the room. She spoke with a stilted, old-fashioned dialect. It almost made her sound like a classically trained gentleman from the days of the Great War, a high-ranking officer who could have stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Octavio himself.

"Many of my kinsmen would disagree with you, you know," tried Eight.

"Good. Then we are allies."

Eight grabbed an Octo Shot from the ground and followed the Inkling out of the lab, mentally piecing together who her rescuer might be. Inkopolis law enforcement was supposed to be a giant mess, according to Callie, and the city's standing army no longer existed. Where would a teenage girl have gotten this kind of training? Maybe Callie herself had taught her? Eight deliberated for a moment, and then it hit her. The Inkling had called herself Three. She must have learned her antiquated Octarian from a certain naval officer, someone who really had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Octavio himself. This self-proclaimed Three wasn't just a warrior—she was an assassin.

"You're Agent 3, right?" asked Eight as she caught up with the younger girl. "One of Captain Cuttlefish's operatives."

Agent 3 narrowed her eyes, then said, "Yes."

Eight's eyes went back to the bodies one more time, taking note of her rescuer's efficiency. Eight had two options right now: either track down Commander Tartar and stop him personally, or get back to Octo Canyon before him and inform the Director Cuttlefish of his machinations. The first option was more dangerous, but the second had too many unknowns. The older Octarian could easily beat her to the punch, and even he didn't, it would still be the word of a commander over the word of a former lieutenant. Furthermore, having Callie mobilize the entire military to deal with Commander Tartar's little science experiment on Mount Nantai would take too long. Eight could get this over with now and save everyone the trouble. And while Eight knew little of Agent 3's background, she had a pretty good guess as to why an NSS agent was at Mount Nantai.

"You want to kill the commander," Eight stated more than asked.

"...Yes."

"Why don't we work together?"

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	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

Small update! I've done some restructuring to increase average chapter length; I felt that some of my chapters were too short to really dig into. I've also added a new section to the beginning of Chapter One, a prelude chapter of sorts that better sets the tone of this story, and an extra section at the end of Chapter Six. Every other chapter has also been revised and expanded to provide more details, better visual descriptions, and cleaner English. New story content is coming soon, too, of course, so stay tuned!

Thank you Jasmine for all your insightful reviews, I appreciate it! I actually had this chapter already planned and half-written when you suggested that I give Tartar a backstory—this was all planned from the start. He's by far the most changed character from canon, so I've spent a ton of time trying to make him relevant to this particular fic. I think I've gotten something that complements Eight and her situation nicely, reflecting the kinds of loss and trauma that Inkopolis has inadvertently inflicted upon the Octarians.

* * *

 **Saturday, 12:06 a.m.  
** **Calamari County**

Captain Cuttlefish let the phone ring several times. His old bones were aching, his bed was comfortable, and his patience had run out after a long day of talking to DPC idiots. Blinking through the darkness of his bedroom, the old man sighed and grabbed the phone off of the nightstand. He pressed the answer button, eager to make the ringing stop but less eager to talk to the person on the other end. Only one person would ever call him at this hour.

"Craig speaking," the veteran mumbled into the receiver, still shaking off sleep.

"Why are my girls ignoring their own travel advisory?" came Director Nyde's nasally voice. The head of the DPC's operations branch took his job very seriously and rarely went home. If anyone was still at the headquarters in the middle of the night, it would be Director Nyde.

Cuttlefish rubbed his forehead with his free hand. "Come again?"

"We've just caught sight of Enperry and Ida biking out to Octo Valley, and they're not answering me. I'd like an explanation."

"Darren, I'm afraid this is news to me, too," said Cuttlefish, smiling to himself. The old man had been hoping that the recon girls would move out, and he had begun to wonder if he had failed to convince them. Now the captain had the perfect excuse to expedite the investigation. "We should send a backup team to find them," he added.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

 **Saturday, 12:09 a.m.  
** **Bottom of Mount Nantai**

Mount Nantai had a marked hiking trail, but the place was neither popular nor developed. It lacked the usual conveniences of campgrounds and parking lots, so Marina ended up leaving her motorbike propped against a pine tree as she and Pearl began their ascent.

"You know, I've always wanted to meet a real NSS agent," said Pearl.

Marina set her phone off of travel mode and opened up a homebrew surveillance app. "Yeah? Why?" she asked, synching her phone to the prototype drones in Pearl's backpack.

The Inkling touched her chin before saying, "I dunno, they've always sorta been my heroes."

The Octoling nodded in agreement, although she didn't agree in the slightest. Her own perception of NSS agents was quite different. In fact, as a child, Marina had been downright terrified of them. The Octarians had made them out to be scary bad guys who kidnapped children. They were also responsible for several confirmed kidnappings and assassinations, cementing their reputation in the Canyon as monsters. Marina knew better now that she was a full citizen of Inkopolis, but changing her internalized prejudices would be difficult.

"I feel like agents aren't constrained by rules like the rest of us," Pearl added. "I've met all sorts of rich and powerful people, but they all get tied down by stuff like money, schedules, and responsibilities. Holds 'em back. Even big celebrities like the Squid Sisters."

"You've met the Squid Sisters? They're _my_ heroes!" Marina chimed in.

"Not gonna lie, they're pretty boring in person." her friend said. "They follow the rules just like everyone else. But, like, imagine how an NSS agent's gotta break the rules and even the laws to protect the city at all costs. They've got the freedom to not worry about money or fame."

Marina nodded again, trying to think objectively about working in the field as an NSS agent. That kind of life didn't seem particularly glamorous, and many aspects of it seemed so lonely. No regular contact with your friends or family, little time for serious relationships, and life-threatening work conditions came to mind. Add to it the fact that agents had to live with the blood of their victims on their hands, and they had a tough job, one not befitting a normal, socially-adjusted individual. One deserving of respect, certainly, but not envy.

"That kind of freedom is just something I'll never get to experience," Pearl continued, pulling two flying eyes out of her backpack and releasing them into the air. "I mean, I'm studying for a degree in business management, and I'm set to inherit one of the biggest conglomerates in Inkopolis. I'm rich. My life's been handed to me on a silver platter, Marina, but it's a life bound by rules and constraints and all that boring adult junk."

The Inkling heiress sighed, gazing up at the stars. For a moment, the only sounds they could hear were their own footsteps and the low whirring of the flying eyes right behind them. "I think I'm just jealous of all the freedom that agents have. Nobody's keeping tabs on them. Like, who else could come to Mount Nantai on a weekday and not get asked any questions about it?"

Marina confirmed the drones' activation on her phone and thought about Natalie. Seventeen years old and already out in the field—a normal Inkling would be finishing up high school and preparing for college at that age, but Natalie had given up those experiences to join the NSS. Did she ever question that decision? Marina wondered.

Then Marina Ida reflected on her own decisions. She thought back to the day that a fellow engineer had given her a copy of the first Squid Sisters album, and how much she had loved their music. That kind of stuff was rare in Octo Canyon, which only made Marina treasure it more. The child prodigy of an Octoling had listened to their songs every day, taking in the Sisters' honeyed words about new horizons and better tomorrows despite not even being able to understand the Inkling language. And eventually, Marina changed. She began to really believe in the idea of leaving everything behind for the freedom of choice. She wanted to live out her dreams and decide for herself what was meaningful. Teenage rebellion, overbearing parents, and stifling work conditions all came together for the perfect storm, and Marina took off without ever saying goodbye.

The Octoling thought back to how empty she had felt upon finally reaching Inkopolis, how aimless life had seemed afterward. She recalled the guilt she felt for leaving her family behind, forsaking her duties for purely selfish reasons, and betraying the people who had given her so much.

She remembered meeting Pearl.

"I ran away from a life of constraints, myself," Marina finally said. "But as soon as I was free, I needed to find a new goal to ground myself with. That's what work is, for me. That's what making music is, too." She turned to look at Pearl. "And that's what you are."

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

 **Saturday, 12:10 a.m.  
** **Kamabo Co., Sector H06**

Commander Rayon Tartar could sense death. Since his family's passing nearly a decade ago, he had learned to associate certain sensations with the advent of death: a brief feeling of nausea, goosebumps, the desire to flee, to name a few. He also knew that death came in many forms: fast, like a bullet to the head, slow, like the freezing temperatures that had taken his wife and daughter, and efficient, like an NSS agent. Its many forms were familiar to the aging commander.

He had sensed death in the hallway. His military-trained instincts went on high alert shortly after apprehending Lieutenant Elias. He had sensed it again, lurking behind a corner, when his men threw the lieutenant into the machine. Commander Tartar knew that someone was nearby. Someone who could bring about death. That he had managed to escape unharmed was in itself a miracle, a sign that his work on Earth was not yet done.

When it came to goals in life, Tartar was a simple man. He sought retribution. Not petty revenge, mind you, but _retribution_ —righteous vengeance brought down upon the wrongdoers, punishment for the morally bankrupt. And there was nothing in the world as morally bankrupt as the rotten city of Inkopolis. So, Commander Tartar's simple goal in life was to bring retribution to the city.

Inkopolis was responsible for a lot of bad things, but its deadliest sin was neither murder nor deceit. It was greed. Specifically, the city's policy to hoard energy and not share it with the Octarians had resulted in more deaths than anything else. As Inkopolis squandered its power reserves on parties, music, and other forms of entertainment, its next-door neighbors fought for scraps. Without sufficient energy, the small settlements across Octo Canyon could not generate heat or grow food, and one brutal winter was all it took to cut the commander's hometown population by a third. Rayon was strong and could weather the cold, but his young daughter could not. She had frozen to death in his arms, still ignorant of all the evils in the world. Her mother then passed away the following day.

Commander Tartar swore to bring the city to justice. The greedy, arrogant narcissists of Inkopolis would pay for their crimes, and he would be the one collecting their dues. He laughed to himself, gently massaging his aching shoulder and damaged hip. Frostbite had also quite literally cost him an arm and a leg, though the Octarian military had been generous enough to provide him with a prosthetic arm and leg all those years ago. Now, Commander Tartar was approaching his sixth decade, and time was starting to take its toll on his worn-down body. Prolonged physical activity hurt more and more, especially near his metal parts, so he couldn't outrun an NSS agent even in his own base of operations.

The NSS had a habit of killing any Octarians that they didn't like, and Tartar had no doubts about being on their list. He had done well to keep his plans a secret for so long, but the NSS had eyes and ears everywhere and was likely tuned into his schemes by now. Kidnapping and killing the Vice President of Kamabo last Monday had been too hasty, Tartar realized. In retrospect, making anyone disappear so suddenly was a bad move. But his hand had been forced. Letting people see his unauthorized projects and possibly report them to Director Callie was too risky and would have given him away even sooner. That witch of a woman was onto him anyway, if Eight's presence tonight meant anything. His enemies were coming for him.

But no matter, he thought to himself. They could come. This well-prepared commander already had a small army of Sanitized Octolings, perfectly obedient, highly capable soldiers who required only minimal maintenance. Historically, the Octarians had been plagued by dissension, fragmentation, and a general lack of unity. Thus, even with their superior training and innovative technology, the Octarians had never been able to stand up to the coordinated, undivided Inkopolis. What better way to solve this problem, Commander Tartar reasoned, than to nip it in the bud? He had his researchers develop a way to purify Octarians of their stray thoughts and clean out their genetic imperfections at the same time, leaving behind lean, mean, fighting machines. Sanitization turned superfluous nobodies into super soldiers. Sure, they were no agents, but the NSS had only a handful of highly trained killers. Rayon Tartar had amassed a fighting force of several hundred Sanitized Octolings in little over a month.

He looked to the intruders as they appeared on an array of screens. Eight was following Agent 3 down a hallway, and both of them were armed. The former Octarian lieutenant held a standard rifle in her hands, no doubt scavenged from the dead, while the Inkling carried some kind of specialized handgun. They would never reach him here, in his reinforced bunker deep inside Kamabo Corporation.

"Sir, they're approaching another testing chamber," one of his attendants spoke, sitting in front of the security camera feeds.

Commander Tartar nodded. "Lock down Sector J and release fifteen units from Sector D," he ordered. "Let us see how much girl power these two children can really muster."

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**

Thank you for waiting so patiently. Life has picked back up, so keeping my old, rapid update schedule will be too difficult. My next chapter should not take another two months, but I'll also definitely need more than a mere week.

As always, I appreciate any and all feedback. Please let me know if you enjoy my work! Or, if you hate it, find something wrong with it, or just want to talk about the story, that's perfect too! I'd love to hear what you have to say.

* * *

 **Saturday, 12:12 a.m.  
** **Sector J03/D08**

The two of them had been walking in silence for an hour, which normally would have been fine. Neither Nat nor Agent 3 felt like making small talk. But to continue staying quiet, Eight realized, would be passing up the chance to speak with an NSS agent. This was a good opportunity for Eight to learn a bit more about her own boss. Director Callie Cuttlefish was forthcoming and candid about herself, but only to an acceptably professional degree, so Eight hoped that her rescuer might shed some light on the military director and former agent.

"Do you know Director Cuttlefish?" Eight asked. Eight took note of how Agent 3 had taken the lead, an obvious breach of protocol. Even in combat situations, Octarian forces always ordered themselves by rank and seniority. There was no way Agent 3 could have possibly had more experience than Eight herself, a twenty-six-year-old who had clocked in more than a decade with the military. A teenager like Agent 3 should have been marching behind her seniors, and Eight should have been leading.

Unless Agent 3 had been training since birth or something like that. Things probably worked differently in Inkopolis, Eight mused, a city where people were supposedly willing to take any means necessary to get what they wanted. Eight wouldn't have been surprised if they forced their special agents to spend entire lives preparing for fieldwork. Maybe Agent 3 did outrank Eight in terms of experience.

Or maybe this particular Inkling simply had no idea what the rules were.

"No," the NSS agent answered after a noticeable pause. Eight was about to repeat herself, and she got caught off-guard by the Inkling's sudden answer—the younger girl had given no indication that she even heard the question, and she had spoken without looking back or breaking stride.

"Wasn't Director Cuttlefish part of the NSS?" Eight tried.

"No," Agent 3 repeated in Octarian, keeping her back to the former lieutenant.

Eight furrowed her brow. That couldn't be right. Callie had told everyone about how she freed Octavio, betrayed the NSS, and came to the Canyon. Callie had even held the title of Agent 1 for many years as the long-standing frontrunner of Inkopolis's assassins. Everyone knew that.

"Callie Cuttlefish came to us last year," the Octoling started. "After freeing Octavio."

She stopped, suddenly realizing that she was touching on a sensitive subject. Eight could sense that the little warrior in front of her getting upset—she made a barely perceptible change in posture, and her back straightened ever so slightly. Callie had betrayed the NSS, after all, so perhaps Agent 3 didn't exactly remember Callie in the best light.

"...Is this something you don't want to talk about, Agent 3?"

"No."

Eight took note of it.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

On the other end, Nat did her best to stay cool. An old wound had opened back up. Rage flared inside of her, and she gritted her teeth. Distractions such as sadness, grief, and anger were distractions and nothing more, she believed. She had never been great at dealing with her emotions, especially not these negative ones.

It wasn't Eight's fault, Nat figured. She wouldn't have known.

Once upon a time, two Inklings got very close very quickly, a logical consequence of being in close proximity for long periods of time. At first, it was all professional. They spent hours training together and discussing techniques. They saved each other's lives countless times. Agent 3 had her senior's back, and Agent 1 led her junior through the hairiest of situations. One time, the two of them got ambushed by a squad of Elites in broad daylight. Without hesitating, Nat jumped in front of her squadmate and took a bullet to the chest for her. Shot in the leg herself, Callie carried her bleeding partner out of the fray, escaping by the skin of her teeth. Callie was hospitalized for several days; Nat, several months. A bullet had punctured Nat's lung and lodged itself into her gut, rupturing half a dozen vital organs. And yet, despite the five percent chance of survival the doctors had given her, despite her near-zero probability of any kind of substantial recovery, Nat sprang back to life and went right back to work.

"Don't die on me," Callie had told her during one of her many visits. "You can't."

During Nat's grueling recovery process, Callie had made the time to see her almost every day. There were only so many work-related topics they could discuss, however, and at some point during their four months of chatting in the hospital, they had moved onto more personal topics. From then on, Nat saw Callie less as a senior agent and more like the big sister she never had. They talked about their few but mutual interests—camping, fitness, and good food—their worst fears—Callie hated being alone, because that triggered bouts of endless worrying, while Nat dreaded the idea of her parents back home finding out that she was an NSS agent—and they shared their hopes for the future—Callie wanted to find her special someone, Nat aimed to become a professional Turf War player, and they both yearned to make a positive difference in the world.

Nat didn't know exactly when her partner decided to turn. But Nat did remember Callie becoming slightly more pensive, a tad quieter than her usual self, during the senior agent's last several weeks with the organization. For whatever reason, Callie started dwelling on topics like the morality of the NSS, the plight of the Octarians, and justice. She was seemingly discontent, but she also assured Nat that it was just stress from her busy schedule and new acting stint. It wasn't until Nat had been captured out in the Eastern Cape by Octarian forces, it wasn't until she had been dragged hundreds of miles across Octarian country and locked up in a dingy cell, it wasn't until she saw Callie standing next to Octavio himself that Nat finally realized the extent of her big sister's deceit. Callie had betrayed the NSS. And Nat's heart broke.

Now, Octavio was back in prison, and Callie was doing a decent job of leading her old enemies away from violence and destitution. But her departure had left its mark. Cap'n Cuttlefish never talked about his granddaughter anymore, despite keeping a picture of both Callie and Marie on his desk. Marie wasn't the same anymore, either—gone were her sarcastic wit, her even temper, and her patience. Only a cranky, irritable shell of her old self remained. And Nat, upon realizing that her most vulnerable and honest interactions with anyone were invalidated, withdrew further from social life. If life was meant to be lonely, then so be it. There was only room for one in her quest to be the best, anyway.

A loud, grinding noise snapped the agent back to the present. They had come to a large, high-ceilinged intersection about one hundred feet across, lit by a few hanging lamps. The hallway forked off left and right at ninety-degree angles, revealing more laboratory rooms that extended into the darkness. Straight ahead three hundred feet, a heavy iron door began closing ever so slowly from the ceiling down, cutting off their way forward. Nat came to the obvious conclusion that somebody on the other side of the door didn't want them to get past.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

"Let us run," Eight heard the other girl say in her characteristically weighty manner. Eight nodded, though Agent 3 hadn't bothered to look back, and the two of them broke into a sprint for the closing doorway. There was no direct, straight path that crossed the intersection, unfortunately—idle construction cars, heavy equipment, and debris littered the halls. Wherever they were, it wasn't an active sector of Kamabo Corporation.

To make things worse, they weren't alone. Eight sensed the anomalies first, feeling their hurried, gliding footsteps in the ground. Agent 3 turned to face them a moment later, a pair of blue-haired, green-skinned Sanitized Octolings coming from under the door. The one in front bounded towards them on all fours in a silent and unnatural-looking rotary gallop, rapidly closing the distance to its targets, and the one following it jogged on two feet, carrying an Octo Shot. A few more Sanitized Octolings followed behind the first two, making their way out of the darkness behind the door. They looked intent on stopping the intruders in their tracks.

"Aim for their necks!" Eight instructed. "Shoot their throats!"

Agent 3 had already slid into position behind a crate, and Eight dipped after her just as a hail of bullets showered the hallway. They pressed themselves against the crate as the armed Sanitized Octoling emptied its entire clip into the wooden box. As soon as the sound of gunfire stopped, Agent 3 popped up over the top of the crate and took a shot of her own. As the Hero Shot found its mark, the upright Sanitized Octoling fell to the floor.

"One Green down," said Agent 3, referring to her kill. She rose, ready to make another move toward the falling iron door, when the weaponless Sanitized Octoling leaped onto the crate. It fell onto the Inkling, claws wrapping around her black cloak, teeth bared. Agent 3 jerked right, twisting the monster back-first toward Eight, who reacted just in time. Eight dropped her gun, catching the mass of entangled bodies with both hands, and moved her fingers around the back of the Sanitized Octoling's neck to its chin. Less than a second later, Eight dropped her right foot, shoving her left knee against the small of the monster's back. She pulled backward on its chin as hard as she could.

A dry, crunching _snap_ followed the combination of twisting and bending, and the green-skinned freak went limp, releasing its grip on Agent 3's clothing. Two Greens down, Eight thought to herself. She picked her Octo Shot up off the ground, and Agent 3 nodded a quick thanks as she scrambled back to her own feet.

Up ahead, the descending door had closed nearly halfway, and another pair of Greens ran out from underneath, both armed. Eight kept her eyes trained on them, but she could feel additional presences coming from her three and nine o'clock. They were silent, but Eight's adrenaline-fueled, military-trained senses picked up on their peculiar aura.

"Left and right hallways!" Eight shouted without slowing her pace, hoping that Agent 3 would understand. Eight squeezed off a running burst at the approaching pair of Greens straight ahead, missing wide. They barely reacted, seemingly undeterred by the threat of taking fire. Their loss, apparently—as soon as Eight decided to stop firing, Agent 3 came around, took aim, and expertly put her last two rounds into their necks. The Greens' momentum kept them moving forward, and they tumbled face-first onto the ground, dead. The little Inkling never seemed to miss, Eight observed. Agent 3 was, in some ways, as freaky as the monsters themselves.

"Two more Greens down. I need to change," Agent 3 shouted back as she reached behind herself to pull a fresh magazine from her pack. That left the flanks to Eight, who turned to face the nine o'clock hallway. A trio of Sanitized Octolings was marching on her position, single-file and still rather far away. Eight estimated that they wouldn't get into firing distance for another ten seconds at least, so she turned around to check the other hallway. At her three o'clock, another trio of Greens came into view, each one equipped with some manner of firearm.

The Greens in the right hallway appeared to be closer. And given that they were visibly armed, Eight decided to engage them first. She sidled up against a stack of cardboard boxes on a wooden pallet and sighted the first freak with her rifle. Upon seeing Eight take aim, it tried to raise its own rifle in response, but three quick rounds found their way into the Green's face. Eight half-expected the other two to swing to her left and avoid her line of sight, but instead they continued gliding forward as if nothing had happened. Another three-round burst put the whole trio to rest.

Eight turned around, dashing toward the forklift that Agent 3 had taken cover behind. The trio of Greens coming from the left hallway was now reduced to a single one, and it was firing haphazardly at the forklift from two hundred feet away, well out of its weapon's effective range. Eight looked back at the big, iron door, noting that it was just about three-quarters closed. Three more Greens trickled out from underneath it—two with submachine guns and one holding a Blaster.

That could be bad. Really bad. If the Blaster went off, the resulting force would do serious damage, not to mention the threat of shrapnel and debris flying every which way at thousands of miles per hour. Eight had used a Blaster once herself, during her time in the academy. Her instructor had made a big deal out of wearing full armor and protective gear, emphasizing the destructive potential of the weapon. And that had been outdoors.

"Trouble up ahead," Eight panted, taking aim at the newest trio of Greens. "One of them has a launcher."

Agent 3 turned back to twelve o'clock just as the cannon-wielding freak crouched on one knee. Both Eight and Agent 3 landed shots in its neck, but not before it had pulled the trigger. A huge, cannonball-sized bomb arced out of the Green's Blaster, landing on a crate just sixty feet away. Eight dove to the ground and covered her head and ears, pulling Agent 3 down with her.

The blast was deafening. A smoky fireball billowed outwards, swallowing up everything in its immediate vicinity, and a shockwave tore through the hallway's intersection. The force knocked Eight's face to the floor, and everything around her seemed to explode. Stacks of boxes toppled over and crates splintered. Bits of concrete, stone, and steel showered the hall. Only the forklift that she and Agent 3 hid behind managed to stay upright, after several seconds of teetering precariously on two wheels right above them. The suspended industrial lamps that illuminated the hallways were all snuffed out or ripped from the ceiling. A few of the lights hung on with their last wires, sparking and crackling, but they, too, eventually crashed to the ground. Within seconds, everything went completely dark.

For a while, all was silent. That, or Eight had simply lost her hearing. She opened her eyes, but couldn't make out either the floor or her hands. She blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the pitch-black darkness, then began mentally scanning her body for signs of injury, lightly wiggling her fingers, toes, arms, and legs. No sharp pains—nothing was broken. The back of her shirt was torn, and her legs were scraped, but her head hurt more than anything else after getting slammed onto the ground. Her attention went to a noise coming from her right.

"Agent 3, are you still there?" Eight whispered, reaching her hand out in the darkness. She felt her fingers touch hair.

"Yes."

Eight's hearing was intact, and so was Agent 3, evidently. Eight shakily rose to her feet and dusted herself off, noticing several beams of yellow light in the distance. They marked her twelve and nine o'clock. The Greens had turned their mounted flashlights on, though she would have been able to tell where they were even without the visual—their footsteps made a peculiar sort of vibration in the ground that gave their positions away now that Eight knew what to feel for.

Straight ahead, she felt something big and solid hit the floor. It wasn't just that the path forward had closed—even someone without Eight's sharpened senses would have been able to tell that the heavy iron door had closed completely. The impact of it had radiated through the ground quite noticeably. No, she had picked up on the footfall of something big, solid, and alive. This was something organic and muscular. This was something like the Greens, but even worse, Eight realized.

The Octo Samurai roared, and the very walls seemed to shake.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**


	10. Chapter 10

_Thud._

 _Thud._

The vibrations in the floor were tremendous. Shockwave after shockwave rumbled through the ground, up Eight's feet, and into her body, painting a picture of the movements and forces currently at play. While she couldn't see much in the dark, she could use her excellent intuition to map out the space around her.

 _Thud._

Using her heightened sense of feeling, she could perceive a large, hulking figure meandering toward her, a gargantuan, rotund creature roughly twenty feet tall and three thousand pounds heavy. A real monster. Behind its towering frame were several normal-sized Sanitized Octolings who had their flashlights turned on. Eight's eyes picked up on the beams of light dancing about, outlining the partial silhouette of an enhanced male Octoling. Its upper body was covered in rippling muscles, fat, and armor—the result of Octarian bioweapon research.

 _...Thud._

The way the Sanitized Octo Samurai was moving suggested that it lacked night vision and thus couldn't see anything—each step it took was too slow, too gentle, and too careful for something of its size. It was holding itself back.

 _Thud-clank._

 _WHAM._

 _HWOOOAAAAR!_

But it was also aggravated by its inability to see anything. Upon getting close to one of the regular-sized, flashlight-wielding Greens, the Sanitized Octo Samurai raised a beefy fist and brought it down with blinding speed, roaring all the while. Flesh, body armor, and gun-mounted flashlight alike were crushed under its massive weight. The little Green didn't even have the time to scream as the giant began to punch the floor repeatedly.

 _CLANK WHAM WHAM CLANK WHAM—_

Eight prayed that it didn't know where she was yet. Her fight-or-flight response was quickly moving away from fight and into flight. The idea of dealing with something that large was daunting, to say the least. It could kill her easily. She could die in the time it took to blink.

Still hiding behind the forklift, Eight took a deep breath as quietly as she could to calm herself. She examined her options. There were only three directions that she and Agent 3 could take, now that their way forward had been blocked off: backward, left, or right. Retracing their steps back through the hallway they had come from was the safest option, but it took them further away from Commander Tartar, who was undoubtedly deeper within the facility. More immediately pressing was the Sanitized Octo Samurai, which would have no trouble chasing prey down such a straight, wide-open passage. On the other hand, the left hallway on the other side of the forklift had some clutter that could get in the monster's way. But there was at least one Green in it—Eight could see its flashlight beam sweeping back and forth as it approached the intersection. She did not want to deal with both the Samurai and foot soldiers in this pitch-black darkness.

Agent 3 muttered something under her breath, interrupting Eight's thoughts. "What?" Eight whispered, shutting off her body's alarms. She felt the need to run, but the Octo Samurai hadn't pinpointed her whereabouts just yet. She could wait, and she wanted to hear what the NSS agent had to say.

The Inkling repeated herself, whispering words in her native tongue that Eight did not understand. Then, switching to the Octarian language, Agent 3 spoke, "Big muscle man."

Eight would have laughed, but her life was on the line. "You mean _Octo Samurai_ ," she corrected.

"I can kill one. Last year."

 _Thud._

"You've killed an Octo Samurai before?"

"Yes. Gun to head."

 _Thud_.

Eight didn't doubt Agent 3. A bullet to the head killed most things, but the monster at her twelve o'clock wasn't a normal Octo Samurai. The normal version of this particular bio-weapon was already big, strong, and angry. This Sanitized freak was worse. It walked with more intention, with less wasted energy. And it was far stronger, hinting at the possibility of additional enhancements that Eight had absolutely no gauge on. She did not want to risk a fight with those variables at play.

 _Thud._

She turned and faced her three o'clock. The right hallway was their best option in the short-term. It betrayed no hints of danger, at least none that Eight could hear, see, or feel, and it would inconvenience the Sanitized Octo Samurai—the low ceiling and construction equipment made the right hallway a good escape route. They would flee to the right, Eight decided.

 _Thud._

"If that asshole charges us, we're dead," she hissed, pressing her back up against the forklift. "And I can't see anything. We need to get out of here."

"To where?" asked Agent 3.

Eight grabbed the Inkling's arm and wordlessly tugged in the direction of their three o'clock, feeling Agent 3 nod her head in agreement.

"I follow you," the NSS agent whispered in response.

 _Thud._

 _Bump-thud._

The Octo Samurai suddenly shifted its stance, a fact which did not escape Eight's keen perception. Agent 3 had whispered a touch too loudly, and Eight felt the monster's big legs turning to face the intruders, its body emanating a new sense of focus.

 _HWOOOOOOAAAR!_

It roared, sweeping its forearms back and forth to clear a path. The beast knocked aside both debris from the explosion and normal-sized Greens, and Eight saw a gun-mounted flashlight sail through the air until it hit a wall.

 _Clang._

 _Thud THUD THUD THUD—_

Eight pressed her Octo Shot to her chest and began sprinting.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

Natalie took off after the Octoling woman. With nothing to guide her but the hurried, thumping sound of footsteps, the little Inkling felt uneasy. She couldn't see anything in the dark. There was the very real danger of colliding with something hard or sharp. There was also the very real danger of getting scooped up by the big Octo Samurai, which was running after them on all fours.

Like that one unarmed Green, the monster galloped with its arms in front. Every time one of its huge appendages landed, the floor shook. It ran into the forklift that Nat had been crouching next to just seconds ago, tripping over the tall, skinny vehicle and knocking it over. Annoyed, the Samurai swatted the one-man truck away as if it weighed nothing, smashing it into the wall.

Nat then heard the Sanitized monster run headfirst into something sturdier—most likely the wall itself. The monster grunted in pain, steadied itself, then pivoted and began charging toward Eight again, whose footsteps were echoing back down the corridor. Hero Shot in hand, Nat continued running after Eight at full speed.

Suddenly, the footsteps in front of Natalie stopped. Before she could react, Eight opened fire. The Octo Shot's muzzle flash blinded Nat, as her eyes had been adjusted to the darkness, and her left ear nearly blew out after having already suffered damage from the Blaster. But she quickly registered the fact that Eight wasn't shooting at her. Bullets sailed to the left and over the top of Nat's head, landing on the Octo Samurai. The monster stumbled back, taking each gunshot like a slap to the face.

"Run faster!" the Octoling half-screamed, half-ordered as Nat passed by and vaulted over a wooden crate. Was that fear in Eight's voice?

Within seconds, Eight had taken the lead again. Nat, with both her eyes and ears rendered next to useless, could not keep up with the former lieutenant. Part of it was frustrating, because Nat could outrun everyone else she knew. Her competitive spirit was kicking in, and she wanted to be in front. But another part of it was kind of amazing. Eight was navigating these twisting, winding hallways without any light, maneuvering around fallen beams, stacks of boxes, and debris. It was as if the Octoling woman had natural night vision.

The big green science experiment wasn't letting up, either. It was slowly gaining on them. And just like the non-Sanitized Octo Samurai that Nat had dealt with a year ago, it absorbed bullets like a sponge. Only point-blank shots to the back of the head had been able to penetrate the thick hide and multi-layered muscles of last year's monster, and there was no reason to suspect that this Sanitized specimen was any different. At the end of the day, Eight's cheap Octo Shot would not be able to seriously hurt it. The former lieutenant was doing a good job keeping it at bay for the time being, but with every bullet, with every turn in the hallway, their pursuer simply got angrier and angrier.

Nat swerved right, narrowly missing a metal pillar as Eight put another three-round burst into the Samurai. Its behavior was quite predictable—it always seemed to charge straight until something stopped it. And there was plenty to stop it—unattended construction equipment, support pillars, and ceiling beams kept the big idiot's pace at a manageable level. Nat heard the Octo Samurai grunt in pain as more bullets struck its armored chest. Off balance, it toppled over and fell into a pile of timber.

She knew better than to bother looking back, because it got to its feet only seconds later. It began charging again, even angrier and even louder than before, and Nat could barely hear the brute approaching behind her. Each step it took boomed. Heavy, thundering echoes bounced off every wall, getting closer and closer, and furious, guttural roars filled the hallway. Combined with the all-encompassing darkness, they mounted a panic-inducing assault on the senses.

But Nat kept her cool. She always did. Losing control in a situation that demanded split-second decision-making would be potentially fatal. The more dangerous it got, Cap'n Cuttlefish had always said, the more important it was to remain calm. Never, ever panic.

Willing herself to stay focused, she blocked everything out of her mind except the current objective: keep up with Eight. Up ahead and around the bend, Nat could see light. Even in this dark, inactive corner of Kamabo Corporation, some of the rooms seemed to have their lights on, and Eight was apparently aiming for the closest one.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

 **Saturday, 12:25 a.m.  
Kamabo Co., Sector J08/F11**

 _THUD THUD THUD THUD—_

"This way!" Eight yelled at her partner as they slipped into a lit doorway. Eight squinted to shield her eyes from the uncomfortable brightness. Inside the room was a check-in desk, a metal turnstile, several benches, and a few plastic chairs. The ground had old carpeting on it rather than the concrete-and-dirt combination of the J Sector hallways, which felt very different under her feet.

They had reached a cable car station, she realized. The telltale rectangular rail ran just overhead. An exit was also nearby—a cool breeze and the scent of pine and cypress wafted in from her right. Eight could even see the stars, just past the station window and at the end of a short, forty-foot-long concrete tunnel.

 _THUD BAM!_

Behind her, the Sanitized giant slammed directly into the wall, too large to fit through the doorway. Not one to give up, it bent down, wrapped its thick hands around the edges of the door frame, and began trying to rip the wall out. The entire room immediately buckled against the monster's efforts. The door frame started to give. Stone and plaster started crumbling around the two girls. The lights flickered on and off, barely staying connected to power.

The girls went in the only direction they could. Neither one doubted the Samurai's strength. Pushing through the station's exit, Eight quickly jumped off the raised platform where passengers normally boarded cable cars. Agent 3 followed close behind, and they hit the ground running, taking the rounded rail tunnel on foot. They could try to outmaneuver the Octo Samurai once they got outside the facility.

 _CRRRRACK._

 _HWOOOOOOOAAR!_

After just a couple steps, Eight heard the Octo Samurai tear the station wall down with a scream. The opening the monster had created was wide enough to fit its body through, and it began squeezing itself through the cable car station, knocking over all the benches and chairs. It barreled through the station exit and tumbled unceremoniously off the platform, plopping down belly-first onto the concrete. Eight turned around and opened fire yet again while continuing to run down the tunnel.

She finally took a good look at her foe in the low light. As the Sanitized Octo Samurai rose to its full height, Eight got an eyeful of its rough, light-green skin. Cuts, bruises, and bloody bullet holes covered much of what its grey armored vest did not. Its towering, muscular frame almost hit the ceiling of the twenty-foot-wide tunnel, putting its head, which was topped with a ponytail in the same shade of blue as the little Greens' hair, right next to the overhead rail. Eight estimated that the monster's head was probably as big as the cable car she had ridden up, but the head appeared comically small next to the Samurai's meaty shoulders. The face was nothing pretty, either—black, beady eyes with lime-green sclera emphasized the monster's unnatural existence.

Blocking Eight's shots with a raised arm, the beast reached up and tore a section of the overhead rail out. Eight dove to her right, dodging the rest of the rail as it came crashing to the ground. Then, the monster took a swing at Eight, using the chunk of rail in its hands like a hammer. Eight stepped back, well out of reach of the makeshift weapon.

She squeezed off a single round at the Octo Samurai's face, sending it reeling backward, before she turned back toward the starry skies at the end of the tunnel. Back on a full sprint, Eight ran until she caught up with Agent 3, who was now on the other side of the fallen rail.

"Outside!" Eight yelled. "We can lose it outside!"

Agent 3 didn't bother acknowledging her at all, but Eight supposed that the Inkling had heard just fine. As they matched each other stride for stride, the monster behind them picked up its pace. Grasping the length of metal rail in both hands, the Octo Samurai trudged forward on legs that were far too short for its stature. It swung at Eight twice more, but both times she was too far away. Again, Eight turned around and sent another bullet into the monster's face, this time hitting one of its eyes. It shrieked in pain and dropped its weapon to cover its face.

Now angrier than ever before, the Sanitized freak picked up the length of rail and hurled it at its foes like a javelin. It rocketed past the intended targets. The chunk of metal sailed over Eight's head and out of the tunnel, disappearing over the edge. Back on all fours, the Samurai resumed galloping at a breakneck pace. It ran past Agent 3, completely ignoring the Inkling, and went straight for Eight. The tiny Octoling was the cause of all its pain and suffering.

 _THUD THUD THUD THUD—_

Eight sprinted down the home stretch, pushing herself toward the end of the tunnel. The circular opening steadily grew wider in her vision as she got closer. The treeless night sky beckoned to her. She was so close. Just a few more steps, and she'd be outside, she thought. She'd get away from the monster. She remained so focused on escaping that she failed to recognize one important fact.

The tunnel was built into the side of a cliff.

"Eight!" Agent 3 screamed. "Stop!"

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:**

It feels so good to be writing again! The last chapter left the story on a literal cliffhanger for eight months. No more of that! I stitched together this latest upload out of repurposed paragraphs, caffeinated epiphanies, and drunken ramblings. Remember to drink responsibly!

Some other updates...

I changed the story description/summary, hopefully for the better.

I was on Team Order, and I'm mad salty that we lost. I didn't actually get to play, though, so maybe that's why we lost :3

I am a Real™ Teacher™ now! People are paying me to do things! I have money!

I left Discord because of VPN and Social Credit System concerns. I miss you all.

I cannot wait for 《风花雪月》, or as it is known internationally by its way lamer title, _Fire Emblem Three Houses_. Golden Deer all the way!

I always welcome feedback on my stories, especially constructive criticism. I want to improve, so hit me with all you got.

I wanna hear from you please talk to me

Until next time,  
dbluewillow

* * *

 **Saturday, 12:31 a.m.  
Cephalon HQ**

She tried her best to blend in, though it was more for the comfort of her subordinates than the operational camouflage that NSS training had prepared her for. Clad in all black, she wore the traditional military-style uniform that all Octarians donned for professional matters. It was a leather, two-piece affair, complete with decorative metal plates and an exposed midriff. Upon closer inspection, however, there were telltale signs that she was not originally from the Canyon. Her hair was black with pink highlights—a rarity in the region where deep red was the norm—her ears were pointed instead of round, and above all else, her eyes were a golden yellow color with star-shaped pupils. She tended to keep those characteristically Inkling eyes concealed behind a pair of square, shield-style sunglasses.

Callie made her way toward the back of Cephalon HQ. She was running late again. Staying on time had never been easy for her. There was just so much to keep track of, and last-second meetings like this one didn't help at all. A uniformed Octoling stood about-face outside her office. The Octarian cop snapped a quick salute upon sighting the director. Unlike most of the other Octolings who roamed the halls during daylight hours, this one wasn't a soldier. Her uniform was made of cloth, not leather, and a police officer's cap sat atop her deep red locks, denoting her occupation. Callie acknowledged her presence with a silent nod, just as Octavio would have done, and opened the door to her office. The cop followed her in, then Callie closed the soundproof door behind them. Here, they could speak without being disturbed or overheard.

"Shika, thanks for coming out so late," Callie piped. "How's it going?"

The Octoling stared at Callie, looking somewhat bewildered.

Callie took a seat behind her desk and removed her shades. "The police are finally launching a formal investigation into the disappearance of that missing inspections officer," she said. "And I've pulled some strings to make sure you're on board."

The young police sergeant in front of her grinned and flinched at the same time, which Callie found amusing. Especially during late night, one-on-one meetings, most Octarians seemed to be deathly afraid of the ex-NSS agent. They acted friendly enough, but Callie's past exploits and current position never failed to put them on edge. _At least Shika makes eye contact with me_ , she thought.

"You're gonna pay Kamabo Corporation a visit when the sun rises. You know the drill by now, right, Shika?" Callie asked.

The Octarian cop tensed her shoulders, then said, "Don't talk too much, don't ask too much, yeah."

Much like Eight, Shika worked for Callie in secret. Unlike Eight, though, Shika had an official cover, having been with the police force for several years. Callie had only recently recruited the policewoman. For the right price, of course. Everybody turned if you offered them enough money. "Report directly back to me as soon as you find _anything_ unusual, yeah?" Callie ordered more than asked, narrowing her golden yellow eyes. "Anything… what's the word in your language, _suspicious_?"

Shika nodded and continued giving Callie that toothy, distinctively Octarian grin.

The military director sighed, resisting the growing urge to massage her temples. In light of recent events, recruiting a pair of eyes and ears in the police was the right call. Callie needed someone who could handle domestic affairs, someone who had jurisdiction within Octarian borders. But as a relatively new name on the payroll, Shika was not yet comfortable with everything. She was unaccustomed to meeting with the military director in person, and unfamiliar with how Callie did things. Shika's loyalty was not guaranteed, either, and there was a chance that she might misinterpret the director's words. To make things more explicit, Callie said, "Any good reason you can find to get rid of Commander Tartar, you'll give it to me. Good luck."

"Y-yes ma'am!"

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

 **12:32 a.m.  
Halfway up Mount Nantai**

Marina's drones had no trouble sighting each and every one of Natalie's point sensor beacons. A quick power hike following the trail of evidence brought the duo to a small cave hidden in the trees.

"Check this out, Marina!" Pearl exclaimed, crouching over an old laptop. The cave showed various signs of Natalie's presence, with a pillow on the ground, a suitcase full of climbing gear off to the side, and a bag of granola bar wrappers near the entrance. "I haven't seen a computer like this since middle school!"

Marina picked up the outdated piece of hardware and turned it on. No password. Multiple views of the woods lit up the screen. The laptop was hooked up to the various beacons that Natalie had placed around the clearing, including the one that Marina had removed and was now holding in her hand. She pointed the beacon at Pearl, and her friend's big forehead eclipsed one of the views. "Looks like Agent 3 is a bit behind on the times," Marina remarked with a smirk. "Girl needs to upgrade."

"They don't seem to go much further than this cave," Pearl pointed out, peeking at the laptop screen. The beacons only appeared to cover the trail leading up to the clearing. Dropping her voice to a low whisper, Pearl asked, "You think she's nearby?"

"Nah, she would have seen us coming. If Natalie was still here, we'd be dead."

Pearl frowned. "Geez, that's a bit—"

Suddenly, a piercing howl tore through the air. To Pearl, it sounded like a very large man yelling in pain. The yelling was interrupted by a deep, rumbling quake. Hundreds of birds, disturbed from their slumber, took to the air in a cacophony of squawks. Pearl leaped to her feet, both dualie pistols aimed at the cave entrance. She backed up a touch, then Marina got in front of her partner and unfurled the shield of a black brella shotgun. After just a few moments, Marna put the weapon away. As loud as it was, the sound had come from much farther up the mountain.

Marina recognized the sound. It was the unmistakable scream of an Octo Samurai.

"I guess that's where she went," said Pearl.

"Let's move."

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

 **12:33 a.m.  
Kamabo Co., Sector J08/F11**

Her fingernails dug into hard concrete. Every joint was threatening to snap. Eight winced. She had one hand on the lip of the tunnel, and barely even that—her thumb couldn't find any purchase, leaving all the work of holding up her dangling body to four fingers. They had not been designed to support this much weight. She looked down, hoping to find something to step on, but the tunnel jutted out a full meter from the sheer cliff face. Behind her was the night sky, and below her, the forest into which the Sanitized Octo Samurai had tumbled. A fall from this height would certainly mean the end, she thought as her pinky slipped.

As her grip weakened, Eight remembered her dead parents. She thought about her mother, the woman who had taught her strength. Mother had been cold and unaffectionate, but a leader by example. She was a hardworking, self-made individual who had survived an abusive childhood and clawed her way through the ranks of the Octarian military. She was an honorable soldier until the very end.

"Cry if you must," Mother liked to tell her daughters. "Then _get up_ as fast as possible and _carry on_."

 _Get up_.

Eight's father, on the other hand, was warmer. Softer. She remembered his comforting smell, and she remembered waiting, late at night, for him to come home from work. He liked to tell stupid jokes that nobody else understood. Eight remembered how difficult her mother's sudden death had been for him. Mother was the rock who had anchored him down. He had been lost without her—the spark disappeared from his eyes, along with his sense of curiosity and ability to laugh.

Two years later, Father was gone, too. Eight had seen his remains. She vomited on the spot, unprepared for the sight of his bullet-ridden body. She hoped that he had passed quickly and painlessly.

 _Get up!_

"I have you!" came the voice of Agent 3. Eight's reverie passed, and she realized that the little warrior had grabbed hold of her wrist. In the nick of time, too. Eight reached up with her other hand and pulled herself into the concrete tunnel. Once up, she rolled onto her back, panting.

"Nice save," Eight coughed out.

The Inkling who had saved her life yet again was on her knees, only slightly less out of breath than Eight. They made eye contact, but Agent 3 said nothing for several beats. Then, between gasps, the Inkling asked, "What do you want to do about the commander?"

Eight stared down the tunnel, past the destroyed monorail, to the demolished station. The Samurai had done a solid job of wrecking things. Her fingers were hurting. She thought about how nice it would feel to take back control of her life and dish out justice to those who had wronged her. She thought about how nice it would feel to get back into Kamabo Corporation and squeeze a bullet into Commander Tartar's face. He'd nearly subjected her to a fate worse than death. He was one of the old geezers in the military who probably believed she was a traitor, anyway.

Eight wanted revenge. She craned her neck to look at Agent 3 in the eye. "Let's get him," Eight said. "Let's bury this old fossil six feet under, where he belongs."

 _Carry on,_ her mother's words echoed.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**

 **One year ago  
** **Slimeskin Garrison**

With her father's death, Eight needed time to grieve. The universe had other plans for her, unfortunately. Life was about to get harder. The idea that the Elias sisters were somehow selling information to their enemies, ludicrous as it sounded, began to spread through the ranks like wildfire. Eight didn't know who had gotten the idea first, or why it was catching on so fast. But it was that asshole Shad who had broken the news.

"You're pretty brave, showing your face around here," he said one afternoon, during lunch. Eight had been sitting by herself at a dining hall table, quietly chewing on a stalk of wasabi, when Shad came over and put his elbow down uncomfortably close to her plate. She glared at the other Octoling's perpetually-sneering face. Shad had a funny habit of failing to recognize personal boundaries.

At first, Eight wondered if he was trying to flirt with her. Or maybe he just wanted to sit with her. She put her wasabi down and replied with, "Guess I am, Ensign. What do you want?"

The way he narrowed his eyes at her told her that, once again, he was just trying to get under her skin. They had never been friends, but they graduated from the same class at the academy. Then Eight earned a promotion. She outranked him, and Shad could never let go of the fact. So, every chance he got, he would try to prove his superiority. Every time he ran faster than her, every time he shot better than her, every time he squeezed a complement out of their CO, Shad would let the whole world know. Most of the base knew Shad was a prick. Eight thought that if he dedicated as much of himself to his training as he did to embarrassing both of them, then maybe he'd get a promotion, too. But he had to get his head out of his ass, first.

"Your days with us are numbered, Elias," Shad snickered. "We _know_."

Eight raised an eyebrow in honest confusion. "You what now?"

"We know what you've been up to."

"Shane, I need some context."

The Ensign jerked his elbow off the table, recoiling from an invisible force. "Come on, you _know_ my name isn't Shane."

"...Shaymus?"

" _Shad._ My name is Shad! I swear you're doing this on purpose. You're just trying to distract me from the fact that _you're a traitor_."

Several heads turned to look in their direction. Eight's smile disappeared. Even she had a limit of how much she could tolerate, especially in the wake of her father's passing. She stood up. "Watch your mouth, Ensign. You're _seriously_ crossing some lines, and you'd better—"

" _You'd_ better watch your back," Shad interrupted, already backing away with a sarcastic salute.

That night, after Eight went home, Cece asked her whether anyone had accused her of treason at work, an unusually serious question. And an oddly specific one, at that.

"Yeah, but I get crap from this guy every other day," Eight answered.

Cece snorted. "That Shad guy again?"

Perhaps Shad had made it all up, but many people in the base started avoiding Eight afterward. The civilians in town began giving her funny looks. Even her academy squad mates began to doubt her. She'd left the Canyon only twice in her life. It was stupid. How could she have even made contact with outsiders? _Why_ would she ever make contact with outsiders only to betray her people?

Cece, however, had attended a semester of university in Inkopolis. Cece had been in school when their father was murdered, only to come back for his funeral. Cece had spent more time in that city in the last three years than she had spent at home.

"The food there is _amazing_ ," Cece told her once. "You gotta come visit sometime, it's way better than this dump."

Eight personally had no problems with living in Octo Canyon and didn't really care to listen to her sister's praise for an Inkling city. The brand of military education that Eight had received instilled a certain level of distrust for Inkopolis, anyway, which had only been heightened after her mother's death. For a brief second, the notion that Cece was actually a traitor crossed Eight's mind.

The next day, Eight's commanding officer called her into his dingy little office. She found him in that grey, box-shaped room, sitting at his cheap, plastic desk. His face was grim, lips pressed firmly together, as if an angry general was about to make him eat something awful.

"Can't keep you anymore, Lieutenant Elias," her CO said. His eyes were closed, and it took him a second to look at her. "I'm letting you go."

Eight wiped at the sweat on her forehead with the towel draped around her neck. She had just finished her morning workout, and she was still wearing her training clothes. "...What do you mean, sir?" she asked.

"It means that I'm letting you go. You no longer work for the Octarian military."

"...Sir?"

The major leaned forward a touch and narrowed his eyes at her. "Word's been getting around, Elias."

"What?! Major Mustekala, I haven't done anything wrong!" Eight affirmed, suddenly finding herself standing straighter than usual in front of her CO's desk. Sweat poured down her back as exhaustion mixed itself with nervous disbelief. "This is about that spy nonsense, isn't it? With all due respect, there isn't a shred of evidence against me."

"You know how the game works," her boss said coolly. "If the higher-ups really think you're a spy, then they'll court-martial you. If they court-martial you, then they'll convict you with or without evidence. And if they convict you, then they'll hand you a DD, and then you're done for good. I'm cutting you loose while it's still an 'honorable discharge.' I'm doing you a favor, Lieutenant. You'll keep your benefits and earn half pay for a year."

"No, please! I-I would never—they murdered both of my parents! Why would I _ever_ do anything for Inkopolis? I'd rather kill them! This makes no sense, sir!"

The major looked at her sadly. "I don't know what else to tell you, Cameron."

"Then let me prove myself! Give me a chance to avenge my family!"

"I can't."

Eight felt like her world was falling apart. In mere minutes, everything she had worked for had been taken away from her. Her years at the academy? All for nothing. A decade of training and service, invalidated. Her family name, tarnished.

Grief turned to anger, and her body began to shake. "You're making a mistake, sir. You'll be sorry for this." Eight said through gritted teeth. She clenched and unclenched her fists. She whirled around and stormed out of her CO's office. The sweat-soaked towel fell off her back and landed on the floor.

In hindsight, threatening him was a mistake. It wasn't entirely her CO's fault. External circumstances had forced his hand, so Eight couldn't really blame him. But he could still get her into more trouble for insubordination. She avoided leaving the house in the days that followed, feeling rather defeated and expecting to be arrested. She waited for someone to knock on her door and take her away.

But nothing of the sort happened. Instead, the director who had unexpectedly replaced Octavio extended a hand and offered Eight a new, different kind of job. It was the hand of an Inkling. Eight took it. _Get up as fast as possible and carry on_ , her mother's words echoed in her head.

 _Get up_.

 **¤~§~¤~§~¤~§~¤**


End file.
